


Reflections

by BirdSpell



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, M/M, Prince Robin of Plegia guys, Robin knows Pretty Much Everyone for No Discernible Reason, i still don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8380708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdSpell/pseuds/BirdSpell
Summary: As war spreads through Ylisse, it's up to Chrom and his Shepherds to defeat Plegia and save their country, with help from their mysterious new tactician.





	1. Recollection

**Author's Note:**

> Ah ha ha, I still can't summarise. I pray that this is better than it sounds.  
> Those of you who've been to my FF account will recognise this. Those of you who haven't, please don't look, it's full of SHAME.

**_Prologue I: Recollection_**  
  
Validar scowls, glaring at the map stretched out across the table. “Damn,” he mutters. “So the Exalt still lives… I told Gangrel his plan was foolish.” He considers the map for a long moment. “Such idiocy. One must wonder how he's lasted so long as king… Ah, Master Grima. The things I do for you.”  
  
A young voice breaks into his musings. “Father?”  
  
Validar turns quickly, glaring at the white-haired boy in the doorway. “Robin! What have I told you about entering my private office?”  
  
“I am sorry, Father,” Robin murmurs, dark brown eyes fixed on his gloved hands. “…May I ask a question?” He lowers his head submissively, looking up through his eyelashes.   
  
“You may.”  
  
The boy's eyes seem to glitter violet for a moment. Perhaps it's the light. “Who is… Master Grima?”  
  
Validar considers this for a moment. How much should he tell the boy? Perhaps not everything, yet. Aware that Robin is awaiting his answer, he takes the boy's right hand, running his fingers over the concealed brand he knows is there. “He is a god, child; the god of the Grimleal. You bear his mark.”  
  
“Is that what this is?” Robin asks, gaze shadowed.   
  
“Yes, boy.” Validar stands. “Now go. I am very busy at the moment; I need to think.”  
  
“Yes, Father,” the boy murmurs, bowing deeply. He steps outside and vanishes into the shadows of the hallway.   
  
Validar sighs. “Just like his mother,” he complains quietly. “I wouldn't even keep him here if it weren't for Master Grima…”  
  
Robin's mother, Elice, was a noble, beautiful woman, of course; no one else could possibly have had blood fair enough to purify his own bloodline sufficiently to create a vessel who could support Grima's power. At the very last moment, however, she had had doubts; mere days after Robin's birth, she had attempted to flee with the newborn child. There had been an argument, he recalls, the day before; Robin's brand had appeared, and Elice had been… less than pleased. It seemed she hadn't expected their child to be of pure enough blood.   
  
He had had no choice but to kill her, of course; if she tried to take the boy once, she would undoubtedly try again. Not that he ever told Robin this; as far as the boy is aware, his mother fled the country soon after his birth, abandoning the pair of them. Robin hates her for it, of course. It's only natural. “Well, she's long gone now,” he tells himself, shoving away the memories.   
  
“Now, where was I before that brat interrupted? Ah, yes. The king…”  
  
On the other side of the now-closed door, Robin frowns, violet-brown eyes narrowing to glittering slits. So, the fifteen year old thinks, that's how it is.   
  
Perhaps his trust in his father is slightly… misplaced. 

* * *

  
  
_*~Two years later~*_

  
  
“Father?” Chrom asks quietly, glancing over at the Exalt. “Is something wrong?”  
  
The other man scowls. “King Gangrel has fallen,” he says irritably. “His replacement is sending a few nobles to negotiate a treaty.”  
  
Emmeryn nods. “Is that not a good thing?” she asks. “If we can end the war-”  
  
The Exalt cuts her off. “A good thing? If it were anyone else, I'd agree. However, for this… man to suddenly decide to end the war, but not even come himself? I don't believe it is as altruistic as it seems.”  
  
Chrom nods. “What would you have us do?”  
  
His father smiles. “Simple. The emissary is bringing Validar's son with him, for… ‘experience’. The boy has never left Plegia before in his life; it should be simple enough to find out what, exactly, his father and is planning without him realising what you're doing. He's around your age, Chrom; I imagine you can feign curiosity well enough.”  
  
Emmeryn frowns. The expression seems off on her face. “It seems… wrong,” she murmurs. “You're asking us to take advantage of a boy's naiveté in order to gain battle plans? What will happen to him should King Validar discover what happened?”  
  
“Not our concern,” the man says dismissively. “You will be Exalt once I am gone, Emmeryn; you must learn to make these hard decisions. Chrom,” he adds, turning to his son, “you understand, don't you?”  
  
To be perfectly honest, Chrom doesn't understand at all. But after eighteen years of life, he knows better than to disobey the Exalt. “Yes, Father.”  


* * *

  
  
It takes three weeks for everything to be settled. The party arrives a few days later, all menacing smiles that are more like scowls and cool, patronizing words. They don't see Validar's mysterious son until the next day, when Lady Aversa, the head of the party, introduces him with an offhand wave and a quick “My liege, Prince Robin.”  
  
Chrom is fascinated, he must admit. The young prince is maybe a year younger than he himself, with the same pale skin of Emmeryn or Lissa; like someone who has never stepped outside their home in their life. He's almost painfully thin, as well; his clothes seem to swallow him, and the advisors and guards around him send almost-concerned looks in his direction every once in a while, though they look away immediately, as though catching themselves. His hair is a clear white, like starlight or snow or ice, and the sunlight makes it glow. Then he glances up through translucent eyelashes, and Chrom can't help the way his breath catches in his throat; the prince's eyes are a glittering brown-violet, shimmering with an intelligence beyond his years. Suddenly the older prince isn't so sure it will be easy to get battle plans from this boy.   
  
“Your majesty,” he murmurs, bowing his head in a clever way that denotes respect without even a hint of subservience, although maybe Chrom's just reading too much into the gesture. “My ladies; my lord.” Even though his father's Plegian accent, from what little Chrom has been told, is harsh and discordant, Robin's is gentle, with an almost musical sound, and Chrom thinks he could just listen to this boy's voice all day.   
  
The Exalt coughs, drawing his son from his revery. “Lady Aversa, may I suggest my children show Prince Robin around the palace, so that he can find his room later? He won't learn much from watching us set up.”  
  
Aversa shoots him a look that says she knows exactly what he's doing. “Of course,” she purrs in a voice that just _oozes_ insincerity. “That is, if my liege agrees…?”  
  
The prince bows; there's no respect in the gesture, this time, just acquiescence and the faintest hint of unwillingness. Again, though, it's probably Chrom reading too much into the motion. “That sounds fine.”   
  
Chrom is struck by the grudging submission in his voice, but he isn't given time to dwell on it before those dark eyes are fixed on him and he has to look away, focusing instead on the silver circlet half-obscured by the almost-matching shade of his hair. Lissa snorts. Emmeryn merely shakes her head fondly and meets the younger royal's gaze with a gentle smile. “We would be glad to. If you would like to come this way, Prince Robin?”  
  
“Of course, my lady,” comes the even reply. Chrom feels as though he's caught up watching some sort of dance as the two heirs speak in careful yet friendly tones, never giving anything away, but never appearing rude, either. He himself has never been very good at diplomacy, nor has Lissa, and it's times like these he truly appreciates Emmeryn's talent.   
  
Robin seems content to follow them silently after that brief exchange. Emmeryn, it appears, is happy to let him, and Lissa undoubtedly doesn't know what to say to this admittedly attractive young man. Which leaves it up to Chrom to lure him into revealing his father's plans. “So… what does King Validar hope to get from this treaty?”  
  
(Subtlety has never been a talent of his.)  
  
Emmeryn sighs and Lissa groans at his lack of tact, but Robin merely laughs. It's a soft, almost delicate sound that sends a thrill of happiness down Chrom's spine. “Safety for our people, I assume, but I wouldn't know. Father never tells me anything.” There's no trace of annoyance or bitterness in his words as one would expect, but Chrom finds himself becoming angry on the other's behalf. Surely, as crown prince, Validar should be explaining these things to his son?  
  
But Robin merely waves off the subject with what Chrom is already beginning to see as his usual amiability. Whether he's truly so easygoing or just an excellent actor is… debatable, but that's none of the elder prince's business, to be honest.   
  
Robin quickly draws the Ylissean royals into a discussion of magic; he's an aspiring mage, they discover. From the way he tells it, he isn't very good. But if his explanation of the sensations that come from using Arcthunder or Thoron are from personal experience, as they seem to be, he's much better than he gives himself credit for.   
  
Chrom finds himself distracted by the way Robin's personality seems to spin on its axis; as soon as they get a decent distance from the council rooms, he turns to face them with a cheery smile and sparkling chocolate coloured eyes, abandoning their discussion of magic and switching topics in a heartbeat. “Tell me about Ylisse,” he begs. “I'm taught nothing but geography and army statistics, so I really don't know anything about other countries…”  
  
Emmeryn and Lissa both turn to Chrom. He coughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Well…”  
  
It's not the best explanation, he knows. It's quick and unsteady, leaping from one topic to the next without hesitating. If Robin is confused, he doesn't show it; instead, he nods and smiles and asks questions in all the right places, making it impossible to decide whether he's acting or just legitimately interested. If the Plegian is as good at diplomacy as he seems to be, the negotiations should go perfectly smoothly.   


* * *

  
As it turns out, Chrom's prediction couldn't have been farther from the mark. It's not through any fault of Robin's, who attempts to smooth things over whenever he's allowed to speak, calming the advisors and debaters on both sides with calm logic and a few quiet rebukes. Rather, it's the Exalt and Validar's negotiators; the Plegians seem determined to inflame the hatred of the Ylissean court, and the Exalt is happy to comply.   
  
Things come to a head three days in. Up until this point, there have been angry words and a handful of almost-threats, but that's it; now, Chrom is listening to an advisor who can't be much older than he himself chatter about alliances and agreement, going on and on about blood and making bad puns about crows. It's only making things worse, Chrom thinks, a sentiment Robin apparently shares, as he leans forward and rests a cautionary hand on the advisor's arm. “Henry.”  
  
The white-haired mage sits down. “Sorry, your highness.” He grins in a decidedly unapologetic manner.   
  
Robin makes as though to stand and say his piece. One of the other negotiators, a wyvern rider whose name Chrom can't recall, beats him to it, hands spread wide. “Exalt, I do not think these negotiations are going anywhere. It appears the gods have not answered my prayers for an equally favourable conclusion. As such, I shall have to… accelerate my timetable slightly.”  
  
Robin's eyes widen, the prince jumping to his feet. “Don't-”  
  
Before anyone else can move, the man draws an axe from his cloak and tosses it straight into the Exalt's chest. Chrom, sitting beside him, sees the man fall as though in slow motion, eyes wide with startled pain. For a split second, there's dead silence. To their credit, most of the Plegians look just as startled as the Ylisseans; it seems they, too, believed they were simply here to negotiate. Chrom's eyes scan the room, searching for then holding Robin's gaze. The younger prince's dark eyes are wild with saddened, resigned anguish and something akin to fear. There are no answers there to why the negotiations went so wrong so quickly, but-  
  
He knew. He _knew_ the wyvern rider was planning _something_. Chrom looks away, in a steady, deliberated movement. He can feel Robin's eyes still on him; after a moment he turns, watches silently as Aversa roughly snatches the prince's arm and teleports them away in a shower of sparks. Some of the Plegian advisors make to run; the one closest to Chrom turns as though to attack him. The man falls suddenly, a stricken look on his face. Henry, the blood-obsessed dark mage, meets the prince's gaze with a grin, tapping the cover of the tome in his hand. A couple other advisors are, likewise, subduing those who look ready to attack.   
  
Frederick, his and Lissa's bodyguard, runs to Chrom's side. “Milord, are you alright?”  
  
“Yes,” the prince manages. “Yes, I'm fine. Lissa and Emmeryn-”  
  
“-Are alright,” Frederick confirms. “I sent Stahl, Sully and Phila after Lady Aversa and Prince Robin, though I don't have high hopes of them reaching him.” He shoots Chrom a concerned look. “The other Shepherds are keeping the Plegians from leaving; perhaps one of the advisors will know something?”  
  
“Perhaps,” Chrom allows, though he doubts it. From the looks of things, it seems no one knew what the man was planning. Even so, it's better to check and learn nothing than ignore the possibility and miss important information. He frowns. “Of course, what we really need to do is find Aversa and Robin. I have a sneaking suspicion that they're the only ones other than the- killer himself who know anything.”  
  
“Yes,” the great knight agrees. “Milord, did Prince Robin ever… imply that he knew what the assassin was planning?”  
  
“No,” the prince sighs. “I don't think he did.”  
  
Far to the west, Robin spins around to face his father almost before he and Aversa have fully landed. “What the hell have you done?!” he yells. “You've just made things worse! You've-”  
  
He's cut off by the impact of Validar's hand against his cheek. “Be silent!” he snaps. “Do not pass judgement on actions you cannot hope to comprehend. I did this for you, boy; so that you can fulfill your destiny!”  
  
“Destiny?” Robin echoes, ignoring the stinging mark on his cheek. “What destiny?”  
  
Validar sighs, as if disappointed. “That mark on your hand; did you really think it served no purpose? You are of fell blood, Robin; Master Grima's blood. You are to be his host, so that he may return to our world!”  
  
He's not sure why, but something about that thought sends a frisson of fear and anger down his spine. “No!”  
  
That makes his father hesitate. “…What did you say?”  
  
“No!” the prince repeats. “I'm not going to let anyone possess me, god or not! This is _my_ body, and I won't give that away!” Is that selfish? Maybe. Probably. But even so… “You can't make me-!”  
  
“Be silent,” Validar commands coolly.   
  
Suddenly, there's a… _pressure_ in his head, and his mouth stops moving of its own accord. He tries to speak, to ask what the hell is going on, but it's like he's lost control of his voice; he can't make a sound no matter how hard he fights.   
  
His father smirks. “Good boy. Now, go to your room.”  
  
He turns and makes his way up the stairs, despite silently screaming at himself to stop. He doesn't regain control until his bedroom door is closed behind him, and he crumples to his knees, gasping and trembling. “What… the _hell_ … was that?” he asks quietly.   
  
He doesn't get an answer.   
  
Not that he expected one.   



	2. The Verge of History

**_Prologue II: The Verge of History_** _  
**Southtown**_  
  
_Chrom swings Falchion towards his opponent, ignoring the magic crackling around him. The tall Plegian mage before him dodges back, shooting off a spell in return that forces the prince to fall back in order to avoid it._  
  
_Chrom's companion, a young man in a dark cloak, raises a hand, readying his own spell as the bluenette keeps their enemy occupied. The prince dodges a spell, swinging Falchion through the rain of sparking power in the hope of causing some damage to the mage. The other teleports away, temporarily escaping the younger pair's gaze._  
  
_It's Chrom who sees him first. “Up there!”_  
  
_Indeed, their opponent is hovering by the ceiling, a magic circle flickering to life around him. He fires a spell towards the pair; they dodge, the younger of the two shooting his own spell to disrupt the circle, forcing the elder mage to land. He scowls, aiming a return enchantment at Chrom, sending the prince flying into a column._  
  
_Chrom struggles to regain his footing, dragging himself to a kneeling position using Falchion as a prop. The sorcerer laughs cruelly, preparing a final, devastating blow of pale blue magic in a corona of deep violet. Such a pretty colour, the third actor on the stage thinks, offhand, for something that brings so much pain._  
  
_As the curse is launched, the younger mage leaps forward, a second spell already rocketing from his hand. The two enchantments collide in midair with a flash of light and the sound of an explosion, leaving a cloud of smoke that blocks the three of them from each others' sight._  
  
_As the smoke clears, the younger mage shifts back to his feet with careful grace. The elder meets his eyes, head tilted back in a clear challenge._  
  
_Chrom runs over, resting a hand on his companion's shoulder to draw his attention. “This is it!” he says decisively. “Our final battle! You're one of us, Robin, and no ‘destiny’ can change that. Now let's kill this dastard and be done with it!”_  
  
_Robin nods uncertainly. “…Right.” He's not convinced. “Come on,” he adds. “Let's end this.”_  
  
_The pair run to meet their opponent, now standing at the foot of the dais. “Fools,” he snarls. “Struggle all you want! You cannot unwrite what is already written!”_  
  
_“Perhaps not, Validar,” Chrom replies, shifting to stand just in front of Robin. “But we'll still give it our all!”_  
  
_With that, he attacks, swinging Falchion through the air once more. Validar grunts as it connects, returning fire with his own dark spell. Chrom staggers back, and Robin joins the fight with a Thoron blast straight to the chest. The electricity feels good, crackling around his fingers. The pain from the sorcerer's return spell is… tolerable; Grima's Truth is strong, but not as strong as the tactician's will, or his tolerance of dark magic. Validar is bent almost double now, strength practically gone._  
  
_Robin puts away his tome and draws his enchanted silver swords from their sheathes. “For Ylisse,” he murmurs._  
  
_And strikes._  
  
_The blades go straight through Validar's heart; he crumples to the ground, violet smoke curling around him. Chrom and Robin stand still for a long moment, panting. Chrom turns to smile at his companion, opening his mouth as if to speak-_  
  
_“This isn't over…” Validar snarls, dragging himself just high enough off the ground to fire a spell. “Damn you both!”_  
  
_Robin reacts instinctively, pushing Chrom out of the way, shielding the lord with his own body. The spell hits hard; he staggers, fighting back a scream as pain drags him down, falling onto his side, gasping for air._  
  
_Chrom runs forward, kneeling beside him with a thump. “You alright?” he asks. At Robin's faint nod of confirmation, he smiles, helping the other into a sitting position. “That's the end of him,” he comments. The last of Validar's power, dissolving in a cloud of dark purple, draws Robin's attention for a second._  
  
_“Thanks to you we carried the day,” Chrom says lightly. “We can rest easy now.”_  
  
_A pulse of red light flickers across Robin's vision, waxing and waning in time with his heartbeat. “At long last,” Chrom continues, but it's muffled and distant._  
  
_Robin scrambles to his feet, Chrom standing as well, concerned eyes flickering to him. “What's wrong?” he asks, but the tactician can barely hear him over his own heartbeat. “You okay? Hey, look-”_  
  
_Robin feels his arm jerk forward without his direction. There's the sound of lightning piercing flesh, and the almost-satisfying, oh-so-familiar jarring of bones resisting his forward momentum. For a long moment, he's not sure what's happened, only seeing Chrom's face twisting in agony._  
  
_He stumbles back, and only then does Robin note the spear of lightning buried in his chest. The tactician glances down as a horrifying thought occurs to him._  
  
_Sure enough, his trembling hand is surrounded by the remaining sparks from the spell he just stabbed his dearest friend with, and oh gods this can't be happening, it can't be real! He looks up to meet Chrom's eyes reluctantly, terrified of what he'll see._  
  
_They're just as warm as ever, and that hurts more than any condemnation. “This is not your- your fault,” the prince chokes out. “Promise me… you'll escape from this place. Please… go…”_  
  
_His voice trails to a murmur as his strength fails. Almost before he finishes speaking, he crumples to the ground, the spear finally dying away._  
  
_Robin stumbles backward, unwilling but bound to follow his friend's last request. And with every step, the horrible laughter in his ears grows stronger._

* * *

  
  
Lissa yawns and stretches, hands locked together above her head. “Hey, Frederick, how long will it take us to get back to Ylisstol from here?”  
  
The great knight sighs. “About five minutes less than the last time you asked, milady.”  
  
Chrom, walking on his sister's other side, chuckles. “Oh, come now, Lissa. It's a nice day; the sun is shining, the birds are singing, there's no battle to fight… Enjoy it!”  
  
“I know, I know…” the princess sighs, tapping the Heal staff at her side absentmindedly. “But I still wish something would happen! Nothing bad,” she adds quickly. “Just… something.”  
  
Chrom nods thoughtfully. “As nice as it is to get a break from the fighting, it would be good to have something to do… Well, there's a village nearby; maybe we can stop there?”  
  
Lissa grins. “Okay, so where's this village?”  
  
Frederick raises his hand to shield his eyes, glancing around. “Just over-” He stops short. “Milord! Look!”  
  
The royals turn to see what the knight is looking at. Chrom curses in a way that makes Lissa snicker and Frederick shoot him a disapproving glance. There's a plume of smoke rising from the village on the horizon.   
  
The three don't even think before running to help. 

* * *

  
  
“Hehehe!” the brigands' leader chuckles. “Well, what do we have here? Some do-gooder villager, trying to play hero?”  
  
The young man before him tilts his head to the side, expression hidden by his hood. “Oh, I don't think villager is the right word,” he replies calmly, a faint Plegian accent colouring his voice. “I am merely a traveler, sir. However, I am afraid do-gooder is a fairly apt description, so I suggest you and your men drop your weapons and walk away now, before someone gets hurt.”  
  
The girl standing slightly behind him clutches his arm. “Please, sir, I'll be fine on my own; you don't need to risk yourself-”  
  
“Nonsense,” the dark-cloaked man says, drawing two glittering iron swords from their previously-hidden sheaths. “The only ones at risk today are these so-called ‘men’. I am perfectly capable of defeating them.”  
  
“We'll see about that!” one of the brigands snarls, charging towards him. The swordsman moves to duck aside-  
  
There's a whistling sound, a quick-moving arrow flying directly towards him. He flinches back, stumbling over a loose stone and falling on his rear. He closes his eyes, turning away.   
  
Then there's a warm body against his own, shoving him to the side. He grunts, the stones tearing scratches into his arms, but at least he's alive.   
  
“You alright?” his rescuer asks, leaning over him.   
  
“Er, yes,” the other replies. “Thank you-” He glances up and goes very still. “Y-your highness! Prince Chrom!”  
  
The prince sighs, rising to his feet. “There are better places to take a nap than the ground, you know. Especially in the middle of a battle. Here; take my hand.”  
  
The swordsman moves to do so, then realises he still has a sword in each hand. He shifts them both to the left after a moment and reaches out to take the prince's offered hand. “…Thank you, my liege.”  
  
“My pleasure,” Chrom replies. “Say, do you know how to use those swords, or are they just for show? Frederick and I are… a little outnumbered.”  
  
“If you wish it, my liege,” the swordsman agrees, bowing his head politely. “The only question is where to start…”  
  
One of his swords flicks up and behind his back to knock aside a sword stroke. He spins, the second blade stabbing through the brigand's throat. “Well, then; my liege, Sir Frederick. I will take my leave.”  
  
“Alright, then,” Chrom replies. “We'll see you once we're done, er- Hey, hang on-”  
  
The swordsman darts off before he can finish, blades spinning in his hands. “Okay,” the prince mutters. “I guess he'll give us his name after…”  
  
With that, he draws Falchion and runs after the other, certain that Frederick can hold his own and keep Lissa out of danger at the same time.   
  
“So, your highness,” the swordsman says, not turning around. “What brings you to this area of Ylisse? I thought you'd be at a ball or some such, celebrating your victory.”  
  
“Not really worth celebrating a few thousand deaths, is it?” Chrom asks, Falchion lopping off a hand, then a head. “I'd much rather run a few patrols, especially as King Validar is still out there somewhere…”  
  
The other starts, narrowly missing an axe to the face. “You didn't catch him?” he asks, and there's something akin to fear in his voice.   
  
Chrom flinches, because _dammit he wasn't supposed to tell anyone that_. But it's too late now, so he sighs and continues, stabbing Falchion through a brigand's chest. “No… He, Lady Aversa and Prince Robin vanished soon after the fighting started. Besides, we… never actually proved the Exalt was assassinated on his orders. We've been trying to keep it quiet…”  
  
The swordsman nods. “Ah, I see. Not to worry; I'm sure you'll track them down eventually. Until then, your secret is safe with me- Look out!”  
  
He darts forward, shoving Chrom back and slicing open the throat of the brigand sneaking up behind the prince. The man's sword flickers up briefly, then drops to the dirt as he crumples. “Damned do-gooder…” he gasps out, then goes still.   
  
“Tch…” the swordsman mutters, touching the thin line of blood on his arm. “Really, my liege, you must be more careful.”  
  
“…Right,” Chrom says after a moment. “Um, thanks-”  
  
“Milord!” Frederick interrupts, galloping over to join them, Lissa perched behind him. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Yes, yes,” Chrom dismisses gently. “Thanks in no small part to… er…”  
  
“Oh,” the swordsman says quietly. “I never gave you my name, did I? My apologies; how rude of me.” He bows politely. “Greetings, my liege. My name is Reflet.”  
  
“Reflet…” Chrom reflects. “Is that foreign?”  
  
“Plegian, I believe,” Frederick supplies, shooting Reflet a suspicious glance.   
  
The young man merely bows again. “Indeed, sir. Is there a problem with that?”  
  
The great knight dodges the question easily. “Pardon, but would you mind removing your hood? It's a courtesy expected of those speaking with royalty.”  
  
“Oh, of course!” the other replies. “Where are my manners today…” he adds to himself, gloved hands rising to pull back the hood.   
  
Chrom's breath catches in his throat for a moment. The swordsman's hair is the colour of starlight with snow-white skin to match; he looks a lot like Henry, to be honest, although his hair is longer, falling just past his shoulders. His eyes, however, are hidden by a black domino mask with purple designs to match his cloak. Perhaps he stares for a little too long; after a few seconds, Reflet fidgets and looks away. “My liege? …Is something wrong?”  
  
“Mm?” Chrom asks. “Oh, no, nothing. It's just that…”  
  
“The mask?” Reflet asks knowingly, touching it gently, as though ensuring it's still there. “Yes, it's a little… eccentric, I know, but I've found bandits are… less than pleased with my methods of dealing with them. I’ve found it's better to keep myself anonymous, although I know it can reflect poorly on me.”  
  
Frederick still looks suspicious. Chrom sighs. “Say, Reflet… You're pretty good with those swords. We—the Shepherds, that is—could use someone with your skills.”

“Shepherds?” Reflet asks. “You tend sheep?”

“No, we’re-” He’s grinning. “…You’re just teasing, aren’t you?” Reflet nods.  
  
“Milord-” Frederick begins.   
  
Chrom cuts him off. “Frederick, he could have let that brigand kill me. Few would have the reflexes necessary to intervene in time; it wouldn't have taken much. Besides, he fought alone against half a dozen heavily armed men to save Ylissean lives; Plegian or no, my heart tells me we can trust him.”  
  
“And your mind, milord? Will you not heed its council as well?” Frederick asks.   
  
“That's what we have you for, Frederick the Wary,” Lissa teases.  
  
Reflet laughs, then, and it's one of the prettiest sounds Chrom has ever heard. “Well, my liege… I'd be honoured to join the Shepherds, if you wish it.” He sighs, then, looking away. “It's a shame how necessary it is… Damn these Plegian brigands! I'm ashamed to consider them my countrymen…”  
  
“Yeah,” Lissa agrees. “They only care about themselves, even when so many people have died already. And it's the poor townsfolk who suffer! Totally innocent, and totally helpless.”  
  
“They do have us, milady,” Frederick reminds her. “Shepherds to protect the sheep. Do not be swept up in your anger. It will cloud your judgement.”  
  
“I know, I know…” Lissa sighs. “Don't worry. I'll get used to all this.”  
  
Reflet glances up at the sky. “It's getting quite late, my liege… I'd say we have an hour of sunlight left, two at the most. What shall we do now?”  
  
“Um,” one of the villagers interjects, “if it pleases milords… You've saved our village, and our lives. We don't have much to offer, but we'd be honored to offer you our hospitality, meagre as it is.”  
  
Frederick smiles, shaking his head. “Thank you, and I'm sure your hospitality would be grand, but we really must be returning to Ylisstol.”  
  
“Dark meat only for me, medium well, and no salt in the soup,” Lissa requests. “I simply-” She stops. “Wait, we're not staying?! But, Frederick! Like Reflet said, it's getting late! What'll we do when the sun goes down?!”  
  
The knight chuckles. “We'll live off the land; make our bed of sticks and the like. I thought you said you'd be getting used to this?”  
  
“Frederick?” Lissa says. “Sometimes I hate you.”  
  
“Quite a stern lieutenant you have, my liege,” Reflet murmurs, leaning a little closer to Chrom.  
  
“Yes,” the prince replies quietly, carefully not commenting on how… close the other is standing. “Frederick only smiles when he's about to bring down the axe.”  
  
“Duly noted,” the other hums, stepping away just as the knight in question turns to look at them. “Er… which way _is_ Ylisstol, anyway? You see, my memory of how I got here is a little… hazy, and I'm afraid I'm quite lost.”  
  
Frederick starts to speak. Chrom cuts him before he can offend the younger man. “A few miles north of here. And, what do you mean your memory is… hazy?”  
  
“Just that,” Reflet murmurs as they begin to walk. “It's odd… I know who I am, and who you are, and where I'm from and things like that, but there are memories… missing. I know that something is gone, but I can't recall-” He hisses, hand rising to touch his head. “I'm… sorry. Can we talk about something else?”  
  
Chrom can accept that. He's happy to follow Frederick and Lissa down the path to Ylisstol, speaking quietly to Reflet about everything and nothing.   
  
Well, at least they got their adventure in the end. 


	3. Unwelcome Change

**_Chapter I: Unwelcome Change_** ** _  
West of Ylisstol  
_**  
Lissa yawns, hands stretched above her head. “It's getting dark already!” she complains. “…Ech! And now the bugs are out! Noisy, disgusting bugs that buzz around and crawl all over and bite you when- Agh! Won goph in mah mouph!” She spits several times.   
  
Chrom chuckles. “Aw, come on now, Lissa. Hardship builds character.”  
  
Lissa spits a few more times. “Yeeeeeuck! …I think I swallowed it…” She scowls. “I think I've built quite enough character for one day!”  
  
Frederick sighs, but doesn't comment. Chrom can feel eyes on him; when he turns, Reflet smiles faintly beneath his hood, head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side. “It is quite dark,” the Plegian reasons. “And from what you've told me, we won't reach Ylisstol for several hours.” There's a faint gurgling sound; he blushes fiercely, looking down. “…And, I'm rather hungry as well.”  
  
Chrom glances between his sister and ally, both looking back with expressions that could most accurately be called begging. He turns to Frederick. “This is as good a place as any,” he offers.   
  
The knight sighs again. “Who wants to help me gather firewood?”  
  
That turns out to cause a bit of a problem. Originally, Chrom suggests he and Frederick gather wood while Reflet and Lissa find them something to eat. Frederick, however, refuses to let Reflet go off with the princess alone (“We still don't know if he's a spy or assassin, milord!”). So, of course, Chrom suggests that Frederick go with Reflet and he himself take Lissa. (Reflet, it must be noted, never actually argues against this idea; he simply shoots Chrom a sidelong pleading look. Who knew puppy eyes could be so effective when you can't even see the person's eyes?) That plan, too, is tossed aside.   
  
Eventually, Reflet sighs. “Well, then, how about Princess Lissa and Sir Frederick gather firewood, and I will hunt with Prince Chrom? Or, if you'd rather, I can wait here while you three get everything ready.” He glances at Frederick mischievously. “Unless, of course, you think the prince can't fend off a half-starved eighteen-year-old.”  
  
Chrom cuts in before the situation can escalate. “That sounds like a good idea. Come on, Reflet; let's see what we can scrounge up.”  
  
“Of course, my liege.” Chrom has a sneaking suspicion that the younger man is snickering to himself as they walk away, but there's no trace of it when he turns to check.  
  
They walk a good distance in silence before Reflet pauses, kneeling and touching the ground. “Tracks,” he explains in response to Chrom's unspoken question. “Bear. Fresh, too, I'd say; an hour or two at most. Quite possibly less.”  
  
Chrom crouches beside him. “Do you think we can find it?” he asks. “Bear meat… isn't the worst thing in the world.”  
  
The swordsman chuckles. “My liege, at this point I'd happily eat anything. And, yes, I could probably track it without too much difficulty; the ground is very soft, and the tracks are surprisingly visible.” He stands and begins to walk, gaze fixed on the trail.  
  
Chrom has always enjoyed watching trackers work; there's a single-minded determination there. With Reflet, there's far more caution than he usually sees, the Plegian's head darting up every few paces to glance around before dropping back to the trail.   
  
It's not long before Reflet kneels, studying the ground with a frown. “Odd,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. He stands again, circling around the small clearing they've found themselves in. He sighs. “It looks like the bear… doubled back. It's possible that it noticed us, if it was close enough, but I’ve never seen a bear-”  
  
He's cut off by the grumbling roar of a bear. The huge brown animal lumbers out from under the trees, eyes fixed on the young men before it.   
  
Reflet says something in Plegian. While Chrom doesn't understand the words themselves, he can definitely agree with the sentiment, he decides, yanking Falchion from its sheath. The other follows suit, twin blades flashing in the moonlight.   
  
They leap into battle without a word. Reflet seems to slip automatically into a supporting role, keeping the bear from getting at Chrom during the odd moments when he's off-balance. It's a hard fight; the bear isn't so old as to be incapable of fighting back, but old enough that it's picked up on how best to attack human warriors. Chrom really doesn't want to know how it got that experience.   
  
Reflet grunts, stumbling back from a blow that likely would have torn out his intestines. Instead, it leaves long, shallow, parallel gashes on his arm and forces him back, leaving Chrom, half-turned while he ensures his comrade is more or less alright, completely open.   
  
He jumps back, Falchion knocked from his hand by an unlucky—or perhaps lucky, considering it missed his arm—swing. “Chrom!” Reflet screams, hand slipping into his coat, but the prince doesn't see anything after that, his entire being occupied with keeping the bear's jaws away from his face-  
  
_Twang-whizz-thunk!_  
  
The bear snaps at him a few times with far less vigor than before, then collapses. Chrom frowns, staring at the animal, then looking over at Reflet.   
  
The Plegian smiles wanly, waving what looks like a very small crossbow. “When you've been on your own as long as I have, you learn how to make… less than conventional weapons.” He folds the limbs against the support and the bow disappears back into his coat, fixed into a holster on his thigh. “Are you alright, my liege?”  
  
Chrom, to be honest, is more worried about Reflet, what with the three lines of blood he can see through the torn sleeve of his robe. But there's one thing he has to make clear first. “Chrom.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“My name is Chrom,” the prince persists. “I know you can say it; I heard you, when that bear cornered me.”  
  
“There were extenuating circumstances,” the other replies with great dignity. “It doesn't count, my liege.”  
  
Chrom sighs, letting the matter drop for the time being. “That's twice now you've saved my life. How's your arm? Looks painful.”  
  
“Hm?” Reflet glances down at the wounds. “Oh… It's not so bad. Stings a little, I suppose, but I've had much worse.” He blushes faintly. “To be honest, I'm more upset about the robe. I only just repaired it…” He runs his fingers along the cloth, muttering words under his breath. The fabric closes up, stains disappearing.   
  
Chrom decides not to comment on the use of magic. “Come on; let's haul this bear back to the campsite so we can eat. And I _will_ be getting Lissa to take a look at that arm.”

* * *

  
On the bright side, Reflet reflects later, at least Frederick and Lissa were suitably impressed by their catch.   
  
For the first few minutes, at least.   
  
“Mmm…” Chrom hums, holding his hands out over the fire. “It's been too long since I last had bear meat. Delicious!” He pauses. “…What's wrong, Lissa? Dig in.”  
  
“Pass!” the princess snorts. “…Gods, couldn't you hunt us an animal _normal_ people eat for once? I mean, come on! Who eats bear?! You're meddling with the food chain!”  
  
“Come on, Lissa,” Chrom replies. “If we hadn't eaten the bear, it would've eaten us! Would you have preferred that?”  
  
“Well, no…” Lissa sighs. “I bet Reflet agrees with me! Right, Reflet? …Uh, Reflet?”  
  
The young Plegian doesn't so much as look up, completely absorbed in eating. Lissa sighs again. “I suppose a person would enjoy just about anything after not eating for days…”  
  
“Just eat it, Lissa,” Chrom laughs. “Meat is meat.”  
  
“Since when does meat smell like old boots?!” the other complains. “Wait, I take that back- boots smell better!”  
  
Frederick glances over. “Every experience makes us stronger, milady. Even those we don't enjoy.”  
  
“Really?” Lissa asks. “Then why don't I see _you_ eating, Frederick?”  
  
“Me? Oh, well… I'm not hungry. I…I had a large lunch! Yes, quite.”  
  
“Yeah right, Frederick!”

Reflet glances up from his meal with a teasing smile. “I’d suggest you both eat,” he offers. “After all, who knows when we’ll next manage to catch something?”

“Oh, shut up,” Lissa mumbles. She takes a few bites of the meat, though, which Chrom decides to see as victory enough for one night.

* * *

  
Later that night, when the fire has died down to little more than embers, Chrom sits up and glances around the clearing. “…Huh?”  
  
He stands. Lissa drags herself to her feet as well with a yawn. “What's wrong, Big Brother?”  
  
“My liege?” Reflet murmurs, sitting up and moving as if to rub his eyes, before realising the mask is in place and lowering his hands to his lap.   
  
“Sorry,” Chrom replies, addressing both of them, “I didn't mean to wake you, but… Something is amiss…”  
  
“Define ‘something’,” Lissa requests.   
  
Reflet stands, moving to join them. “Nothing good,” he predicts unhappily.   
  
Chrom nods his agreement. “I'll go have a look around.”  
  
“Not alone, you won't!” Lissa replies. “I'm coming-”  
  
Reflet jolts suddenly. “No,” he murmurs. “That's not- He can't be-”  
  
Without another word, he sprints off into the darkness surrounding the clearing. Chrom blinks. “Reflet, wait-” He sighs. “Lissa, stay here and tell Frederick what happened. I'll go find him.”  
  
He runs after the other before Lissa has a chance to reply.   
  
When he does catch up to Reflet, the Plegian is standing on a path winding through the trees, as still as stone. “It certainly is dark,” he murmurs by way of greeting. “…And quiet. Where did all the birds go?”  
  
“Something is wrong here…” Chrom replies.   
  
“No! Really?”  
  
Before the prince can reply, the ground shudders under their feet. Reflet curses viciously. “Chrom?!”  
  
The other grunts. “Gods, what-” He shakes his head. “Agh! What is this madness?! Stay close!”  
  
They both glance at the horizon; trees are falling, getting steadily closer to their location. “Run,” Chrom says quietly.   
  
Reflet glances at him. “But, the others-”  
  
“They'll have to take care of themselves.” It hurts to say it, but Frederick and Lissa can't be what they're thinking about at the moment. “I mean it! Go!”  
  
The Plegian nods, turning and sprinting into the woods like a young deer. Chrom follows.   
  
The ground cracks at the very place where they'd been standing. It rises up, then, fire spurting through the gaps. In fact, Chrom decides, glancing back over his shoulder, it looks like what he imagines hell to be.   
  
“This way!” he calls, touching Reflet's shoulder to get his attention as he peels off to the side. “Hurry!”  
  
The younger man follows him, and they leap off a small ledge. The fire doesn't follow them, and they come to a halt, gasping, staring out at the burning forest.   
  
Reflet glances at Chrom briefly, then looks away. Then his eyes snap to a place just above the prince's shoulder and he freezes. “Chrom,” he murmurs, pointing at whatever it is he sees. “What is that?”  
  
‘That’ is a circle of blue light with a darker part in the centre, strange symbols hovering in a wide ring around it. It looks very much like an eye. Even the way it opens—folding out from the centre—looks like an eye opening.   
  
There's a flicker of movement. Two dark shapes, like humans, but- wrong, fall through, moaning as they do so. They stand, slowly, and Chrom draws Falchion. “Reflet?”  
  
“R-right,” the Plegian replies, nodding several times. His hands are shaking as he draws his swords.   
  
The first of the two monsters bellows something incomprehensible. Black smoke curls out of its mouth. Then it charges.   
  
Chrom ducks to the side, swinging Falchion out in a wide arc to cut through the creature's torso. It's a blow that would cripple, if not outright kill, any living creature, so when there's no impact of a body against the earth, his eyes widen. He glances back over his shoulder.   
  
The thing's head spins to face him, accompanied by an unpleasant cracking noise. Its axe swings around; Chrom barely gets Falchion up in time to block it. He grunts with effort, straining to force it back. This is worse than the bear, and he can't expect Reflet to save him again-  
  
He pushes a little harder, knocking the thing off-balance. He forces it down to the ground with a well-timed shove and leaps, burying Falchion in its back.   
  
It _shrieks_ as it dies, dissolving into violet smoke. Chrom frowns, standing carefully.   
  
And then there's a scream of pure terror and he spins. “Reflet!”  
  
The younger man is backed up against a boulder, his swords lying a few feet away. They must have been knocked from his hands by the thing's axe. He's trembling, raising his hands as if he can somehow catch the weapon.   
  
The thing begins to swing. Chrom forces himself to sprint, knowing he can't possibly get there in time-  
  
And then there's the _clang_ of weapons meeting and the axe is halted by a different blade. Chrom stops, staring at the blue-clad young man standing between Reflet and the thing, holding the axe away.   
  
The young man grunts with effort, turning his masked gaze towards Chrom. “Help!” he yells.   
  
The prince nods. “Right.” He runs forward, yelling a war cry. The thing glances up, surprised, and the young man, feeling the reduced pressure, shoves back against the axe, forcing it back. The pair of swordsmen move in perfect sync, drawing their blades through the creature. It turns to smoke.   
  
Chrom turns to the young man. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “What's your name?”  
  
“There are more of those things,” he replies instead of answering. “Prepare yourselves.”  
  
And with that, he's gone.   
  
Reflet is trembling like a leaf when Chrom glances over. “Oh gods,” he whispers, mostly to himself. “Oh gods, why? Why now?”  
  
“Reflet?” Chrom asks carefully. “Are you alright?”  
  
“I'm- Yes,” the other replies. “Yes, I'm fine.” He bends down to scoop up his swords, just as Frederick and Lissa gallop into the clearing.   
  
“Milord!” Frederick calls. “Are you hurt?”  
  
“Chrom!” Lissa wails. “Reflet!” She runs forward to join them.   
  
“Gods,” Reflet murmurs. “What _are_ these things?”  
  
“They're not from Ylisse,” Chrom replies decisively. “I promise you that.”

“Yes, my liege, I had figured that out for myself, funnily enough.”  
  
“No one is injured, then?” Frederick checks. “Thank the gods…”  
  
“Thank the masked man who saved me,” Reflet replies. Is it Chrom's imagination, or is he blushing faintly? “If it wasn't for him, I'd be…” He trails off. “Ah, where did he go?”  
  
“We can worry about him later,” Frederick decides, “after we put these… things… to the blade. Eyes open, now. We know nothing about this enemy.”  
  
“Right,” Chrom agrees.   
  
Reflet turns, scanning the landscape. “Look! Abandoned forts, there and there. Those will be good places to attack from. And… Frederick, if you go through the trees and attack from the other side… Chrom and I can keep them busy on this side!”  
  
Frederick glances over at Chrom. The prince shrugs. “Sounds like good reasoning to me. Do as he says.”  
  
Frederick peels off. Reflet doesn't seem to notice, focused entirely on the battlefield. “They have an archer,” he comments. “Try to stay out of range as best you can. Gods, what I'd give for a mage about now…”  
  
“How do you know all this?” Chrom asks.   
  
The Plegian glances over. “I didn't tell you? My father didn't let me do much of… anything, really, so I spent a lot of time studying. I've been told I'm quite a talented tactician.”  
  
“A tactician, huh?” Chrom asks. “Well, now I'm doubly glad I asked you to join the Shepherds.”  
  
“Careful, my liege,” comes the reply. “You're going to make me think you only want me for my skills.”  
  
“Was that a joke?” Chrom asks, shocked. But Reflet darts off into battle without a word. Chrom shakes his head, following just in time to finish off the thing the Plegian has knocked down.   
  
Then there's the sound of hoofbeats. “Captain Chrom!” calls a familiar voice. “Wait! I'm coming!” The cavalier shakes her head. “…Agh, I knew I shouldn'ta left 'em. All right, you ash-faced freaks! Which one of ya wants to try my lance on for size first? I know just the spot for it: shoved right up your-”  
  
A second person sprints into view. This one isn't familiar, with long blue hair and a bow slung over his shoulder. “Hold, milady!” he calls.   
  
“Muh?” the cavalier asks.   
  
“Life may be long, but attraction is so fleeting!” the archer begins. “Would you leave me in your sweet dust?” (Lissa snorts.) “Leave war to the warriors, dear bird!” he continues. “A beauty such as you need wage only love.”  
  
“…The hell are you?!” the redhead replies.   
  
“Ha!” the archer laughs. “Is the lady intrigued? Of course you are; it's only natural.” He clears his throat. “I am myth and legend! I am he who strides large across history's greatest stage! The man who puts the ‘arch’ in ‘archer’! My name, dear lady, is Vi-”  
  
“Sorry, Ruffles,” the cavalier interrupts, “no time for this. Onward!”  
  
“Virion!” the archer yelps. “…Er, my name. It's Virion. W-wait! Where are you going? Pray, at least tell me your name!”  
  
The woman sighs. “I'm Sully. …And I'm a Shepherd.”  
  
“‘Sully’!” Virion begins. “How divine! A starkly beautiful name, as befits its owner, truly. Will you marry me, my dearest Sully?”  
  
“Will I what now?” Sully asks. She considers this for a moment. “Oh, wait, I get it… This is a joke. And when I put my boot through your face- that's the punch line.”  
  
“I realise my manly figure and noble bearing can be overwhelming,” Virion continues, either not hearing or not caring. “'Tis common! So please, don't feel pressured to answer right a-”  
  
“How's _this_ for an answer?!” Sully yells, kicking him in the side.   
  
Virion grunts. “G-goodness, but those shapely legs certainly can kick, can't they… P-please, milady! Allow me to accompany you, at least! Mine is a cold, empty world without you. I shall be your most willing servant, and you, in turn, will give my life purpose…”  
  
Sully sighs. “Fine… Anything to shut you up.” She pauses. “…What? Stop staring at me like that!”  
  
Reflet chuckles. “I like her already.”  
  
The cavalier trots over to join them, Virion hot on her tail. “Alright, Captain. What do you want us to do?”  
  
Chrom shrugs. “Reflet?”  
  
The tactician frowns, eyeing the other two. “Let me think… Sully, was it? If you could go join Frederick over there. And… Virion, you go and make sure no one gets too close to Lissa, yes?”  
  
Sully turns to Chrom. He nods. “Reflet's our new tactician. I'm sure he knows what he's talking about.”  
  
“Oh, yes,” Reflet agrees. “It's a simple enough strategy; rather basic, to be honest. But these things don't seem particularly clever.”  
  
Sully nods, galloping off to join Frederick in the woods. Virion runs to join Lissa. Chrom watches him go, scowling. “I'm saying right now, if he tries anything, he'll regret it.”  
  
“I'm sure,” the tactician murmurs. “Are you coming?”  
  
He steps out, blades flashing to cut into his opponents, keeping their attention on him. Chrom sighs. “Well, he's certainly gotten over being scared of them…” He hoists Falchion a little higher and charges out to join the fight.   
  
They manage to thin out some opponents, including the archer. Then Reflet waves a hand to signal the others. “Frederick! Sully! Now!”  
  
The two mounted Shepherds charge out of the woods, the things' resistance crumbling before them. It doesn't take long for the two forces to meet in the middle, all traces of their enemies gone.   
  
It's then that the mysterious masked man steps out of the trees. The Shepherds move to join him.   
  
“It seems all the creatures are vanquished,” Frederick comments. “This young man took care of the others.”  
  
The young man in question says nothing, merely nodding in recognition of the comment.   
  
“Um,” Reflet says quietly. “I never got to thank you… for before. So, ah… thank you. For saving my life.”  
  
“Yes,” Chrom jokes. “It would have been a pity to lose our tactician before he even became our tactician.” Then, more seriously, “My name is Chrom. Might I ask yours?”  
  
“You may call me Marth,” the other replies quietly.   
  
“Marth?” the prince asks. “After the heroic king of old? You certainly fight like a hero. Where did you learn your way with a sword?”  
  
Marth hesitates, then shakes his head. “I'm not here to talk about me. This world teeters at the brink of a horrible calamity. What you saw tonight was but a prelude. You have been warned.” That said, he turns and walks away, without so much as a goodbye.   
  
“Huh?” Lissa asks. “What's teetering where now? Hey, wait!”  
  
“Not much for conversation, is he?” Reflet comments.   
  
“It appears his skills lie elsewhere,” Frederick replies. “I wager we'll hear his name again… But for now I'm more concerned about the capital. We should make haste.”

* * *

  
It takes them until noon the next day to arrive at the capital. Reflet spins in a circle in the street, taking in every sight he can. “So this is Ylisstol, capital of Ylisse…” he murmurs.   
  
“It appears the capital was spared the chaos we encountered, thank the gods,” Frederick comments. “I see no evidence of the great quake. It must have been limited to the forest.”  
  
“Well, that's a relief!” Lissa says cheerily.   
  
“Look!” an older man calls suddenly. “The exalt has come to see us!”  
  
Reflet pulls Chrom forward so he can see where Emmeryn is walking. “The exalt… Your ruler, yes? Lady Emmeryn?”  
  
“Yes,” Frederick replies, having followed the younger men.   
  
Reflet frowns. “Is it safe for her to walk among commoners like this?”  
  
“The exalt is a symbol of peace,” Frederick explains, “Ylisse's most prized quality. I'm sure you know Grima's legend?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” the Plegian murmurs. “All too well. It was the first exalt who put him to sleep, right? With the help of the divine dragon?”  
  
“Yes,” the great knight replies. “Exalt Emmeryn reminds us all of the peace we fought for then.”  
  
“I… see.” Reflet sighs. “It's so different from Plegia.”  
  
Chrom decides not to comment on that. “With Plegia—or at least a rebel group of some sort—poking at our borders, the people need her. She's a calming presence, when some might otherwise call for war.”  
  
Reflet nods. “Then the Ylissean people are indeed lucky to have her.”  
  
“It looks like she's returning to the palace,” the prince comments. “Would you like to meet her?”  
  
The Plegian smiles. “If it'll be alright?”  
  
“As long as you're with us, the guards won't question it,” Chrom assures him. “And I bet Emm will love you.”  
  
“In that case, very much so, yes.”

* * *

  
Chrom, Lissa and Frederick step into the throne room, Reflet a few hesitant paces behind.  
  
Emmeryn smiles warmly. “Chrom! Lissa! Welcome home. Oh, and good day, Frederick. How fared you all?”  
  
Chrom smiles back. “Well, we shouldn't have any brigand problems for a while.”  
  
“Wonderful,” the exalt replies. “And our people?”  
  
“Safe as they can be, Emm,” the prince reassures her. “But we still need to watch the borders. The brigands crossed over from Plegia.”  
  
“Forgive me, milord,” Phila, standing beside Emmeryn, murmurs. “My pegasus knights should have intercepted them.”  
  
“No, Phila,” Chrom replies. “Your duty was here, with the exalt.”  
  
“And besides,” Lissa giggles, turning to look at Reflet, “we had plenty of help!”  
  
“Ah,” Emmeryn hums, following her sister's gaze, “you speak of your new companion here?”  
  
“This is Reflet,” Chrom introduces. “He fought bravely with us against the bandits. In fact, he was fighting them, alone, when we arrived! I've decided to make him a Shepherd.”  
  
Emmeryn smiles. “It sounds as though Ylisse owes you a debt of gratitude, Reflet.”  
  
Reflet blushes. “Not at all, milady!” he replies, bowing gracefully. “I only did what any decent person would do.”  
  
Frederick glances over at him. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I must speak. Reflet claims to be on our side, and he did fight with us bravely, but we cannot rule out the possibility that he is a brigand himself, or even a Plegian spy.”  
  
“Frederick!” Chrom snaps. “Just because he's Plegian himself doesn't mean-”  
  
Emmeryn cuts him off. “Yet you allowed him into the castle, Chrom. Does this man have your trust?”  
  
Chrom forces himself to relax. “Yes. He risked his life for our people. That's good enough for me.”  
  
The exalt turns back to Reflet. “Well then, Reflet… It seems you've earned Chrom's faith, and as such you have mine as well.”  
  
“Milady,” the tactician murmurs, bowing once more.   
  
“But thank you, Frederick,” Emmeryn continues, “for your prudence, as always. Chrom and Lissa are blessed to have so tireless a guardian. I do hope they remember to mention that from time to time…”  
  
Frederick bows. “They occasionally express something akin to gratitude, Your Grace. Phila, I assume you've heard about the deathly creatures we encountered, yes?”  
  
Phila nods. “Yes, milord. They've been sighted all across Ylisse.”  
  
Emmeryn sighs. “Chrom, we are about to hold council. I was hoping you could join us.”  
  
“Of course,” the prince replies.   
  
Lissa grins. “I think that's our cue, Reflet! C'mon, there's a place I want to show you.”  
  
“Alright,” Reflet replies. “Your Grace, my liege… Sir Frederick.” He merely bows to Phila, politely distant, before following Lissa from the room.   
  
Chrom chuckles, trailing after his elder sister into the council chambers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! Sorry, real life is pure evil at the moment. I have the day off school tomorrow, though, so hopefully I'll be able to get more updating done.


	4. Shepherds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda forgot this existed. Oops. It's especially embarrassing because I wrote this so long ago...

**_Chapter II: Shepherds_** **** _  
The Northroad_  
  
Lissa giggles, stretching her arms above her head as she enters the room. “Here we are! The Shepherds' garrison. Go on, make yourself at home.”  
  
The other two people in the room look up in interest, even more so when Reflet steps in after the princess, looking around curiously. The blond man opens his mouth as if to speak-  
  
“Lissa, my treasure!” a voice from deeper in the garrison calls. “Are you alright? I've been on pins and needles!”  
  
A young blonde woman dressed in pink runs over to stand before Lissa. The other grins. “Oh, hey, Maribelle!”  
  
Maribelle glares at her. “‘Oh, hey’ yourself! I've sprouted fourteen grey hairs fretting over you!”  
  
Lissa snorts. “Aw, you worry too much. I can handle a battle or two! …Although I could do without the bugs and the bear barbecue…” she adds, less cheerfully.   
  
The blond man sighs, cutting into the conversation. “Hey, squirt! Where's Chrom? I bet he had a rough time out there without ol' Teach and his trusty axe!”  
  
The princess giggles again. “Oh, so you're ‘Teach’ now, Vaike, is that it? And here I thought people were just born lacking wits. It can be taught?”  
  
Vaike smirks. “Ha! Never doubt the Vaike!” He pauses. “…Wait, was that an insult?”  
  
The other woman in the room coughs, drawing their attention. “Beg pardon, but when might we see the captain?”  
  
Maribelle sighs, turning to face her. “Poor Sumia. She's simply been beside herself with concern… Her eyes were scanning the horizon all day during training.” She coughs daintily. “…She might have earned fewer bruises fighting blindfolded.”  
  
Lissa smiles. “Aw, Sumia, that's so sweet of you to worry about Chrom.”  
  
“Worry?” Sumia asks. “Well, I… He's our captain and our prince; of course I'd worry!”  
  
Vaike frowns, turning to look at Reflet. “So, who's the stranger?”  
  
Lissa grins. “No one's stranger than you, Vaike… But allow me to introduce Reflet! He just joined the Shepherds. Chrom's made him our new tactician. You should see all the tricks he's got up his sleeve!” Reflet takes a half-step back, rubbing the back of his neck.   
  
“Oh yeah?” Vaike asks. “Can he do this?” He burps, long and loud.   
  
Reflet chuckles, bowing. “I'm sure I have much to learn in the belching arts, ‘Teach’,” he says cautiously; although his accent raises a few eyebrows, no one comments. “In any case, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintances.”  
  
Maribelle turns away in disgust. “Ugh, Vaike! That was abhorrent! Must you baseborn oafs pollute even the air with your buffoonery? And you, Reflet! Don't encourage him! I'd hoped you were cut from a finer cloth. Hmph!”  
  
Reflet smiles, as if at some private joke, as she walks away. Sumia sighs. “Don't take it to heart, Reflet,” she murmurs gently. “Maribelle warms to people slowly.”  
  
Lissa giggles. “Or burns too quickly! But yeah, just give her time.”  
  
It's then that Chrom walks in, leaning casually against Reflet's shoulder. The tactician shrugs hard, forcing the prince to stand straight.   
  
Sumia jumps. “Ah! Captain! You've returned! I was- I mean, we were so-” She moves to step forward, trips over her own feet, and lands flat on her face. Reflet and Chrom both step back in surprise.   
  
“Sumia!” Chrom yelps. “Are you alright? …Those boots of yours again?”  
  
Sumia flushes. “No! I mean, yes! I mean…” She gives up, sighing.   
  
Chrom shakes his head. “Alright, listen, everyone: in the morning, we'll be matching to Regna Ferox.”  
  
Reflet frowns, in that specific way Chrom has come to realise means he's searching for a memory. “…Regna Ferox?” the tactician asks after a moment.   
  
If the Shepherds find anything strange about the question, they don't let on. “A unified kingdom to Ylisse's north,” Sumia explains. “Inhabited by barbarians, or so it's said.”  
  
Reflet lifts one hand to his temple gingerly, as though it hurts. “No, that's not… Ah, now I remember. Thank you, milady.”  
  
Sumia smiles, blushing faintly. Chrom sighs, smacking the Plegian's shoulder lightly. “Warriors are what they are, and we'll need their strength to quell this new menace. Typically, the exalt would request such aid in person. But given recent events… Well, the people might worry should my sister suddenly leave the capital. So the task has been passed to us.” He glances around the room. “Now, this mission is strictly voluntary. So if, for any-”  
  
“I volunteer!” Lissa calls.   
  
“Me too!” Vaike adds. “You'll be needing ol' Teach along for such a delicate mission!”  
  
“I'll go as well,” comes an almost inaudible voice from the corner. “…What? I've been here the whole time!”  
  
Reflet doesn't bother with answering. He just tilts his head to the side with a smile. Chrom smiles back warmly, and the younger man finds himself having to look away, blushing.   
  
Sumia sighs. “I… I, um…”  
  
“Yes, Sumia?” Chrom asks.   
  
“It's just that…” the young woman murmurs, “I'm not sure I'm quite ready for a proper mission just yet. I'd probably just get in the way.”  
  
Chrom nods his understanding. “Well, you could stay behind the main group, and if a battle is met, just watch and learn? Your choice, of course. But some lessons can only be learned on the battlefield.”  
  
The other smiles faintly. “W-well, if you think it wise, Captain.”  
  
The prince smiles back. “Just stay by me and you'll be fine.”  
  
“Oh, yes!” Sumia cries, a little too enthusiastically. Chrom can feel Reflet shooting her an odd look from under his mask. The woman coughs. “I mean- Yes, sir, I'll do that!”  
  
They spend the night in the barracks. Chrom doesn't see much of Reflet; according to Lissa, he spends most of the evening exploring and talking to Vaike, then curls up on one of the empty bunks to sleep. By the time Chrom, too, goes to bed, his new tactician is nothing more than a lump on the bed, although whether he's actually asleep is debatable.   
  
The Shepherds leave early the next morning, barely stopping for breakfast before heading out. Chrom turns to speak to them. “Is everyone ready?” he asks. “We've a long march ahead.”  
  
“W-wait for me!” calls a new voice. A cavalier gallops over, dressed in full green armour.   
  
“Stahl?” Chrom asks.   
  
Stahl sighs. “Why am I the last to hear about this expedition to Ferox?” he asks.   
  
Lissa frowns. “What? Vaike was supposed to…” She sighs. “Vaike! Did you forget to tell Stahl about our mission?”  
  
Vaike frowns back. “The Vaike never forgets! …I just don't always remember, is all…”  
  
Lissa groans. “I swear, you'd forget your own name if you weren't constantly saying it yourself! Speaking of which, are you _sure_ you remembered your axe this time?”  
  
“Hey!” Vaike snaps. “That was one time! …Okay, twice, but training sessions don't count. Anyway, I got it right here. Teach is loaded and ready for action! Glad to have you along, Stahl, ol' buddy.”  
  
“That makes one of us,” Stahl complains. “I was in such a hurry, I had to miss breakfast!” He sighs longingly. “There were muffins, and cakes, and… Well, I can tell you all about it while we march…”  
  
Reflet turns to face the cavalier, head tilted curiously to the side. “Your name is Stahl, right?” he asks hesitantly.   
  
Chrom coughs. “Oh, I'm sorry, Reflet. This is Stahl, one of our finest. Stahl, this is Reflet, our new tactician.”  
  
Stahl chuckles, holding out a hand to shake. Reflet takes it cautiously. “Hello, Reflet. Miriel told me we had a new Shepherd.” He pauses. “Er, Miriel's one of our mages. She should catch up soon.”  
  
It's about then that they reach a bridge. Which would be perfectly fine, except for the fact that this particular bridge is swarming with the creatures they fought in the woods.   
  
“Gods,” Chrom hisses, “have the Risen spread this far?”  
  
“‘Risen’, my liege?” Reflet asks, in a tone that suggests he already knows the answer.   
  
Frederick coughs, drawing the tactician's attention. “We needed a name for this new threat, so the council gave them one.”  
  
Chrom scowls. “Everyone, remember what we're up against!” he orders.   
  
Vaike grins. “Mya ha! They'll remember me once I drive my axe into their…” He reaches for his belt, then freezes. “Wait… My axe. Where's my axe?! I had it a second ago!”  
  
Chrom sighs. “Vaike, this is no time for jokes…”  
  
“I'm serious!” the other replies. “It's gone, but I _just_ had it! It's got to be around here somewhere…”  
  
“Keep to the rear, then!” the prince snaps. “The battle is nigh!” He turns to Reflet. “Well, tactician?”  
  
Reflet nods. “Well, we'll want to clear out this side first. Stahl, Sully, head around to the left; it looks like the one nearest to you on that side has a sword. Take him out, then continue around. Chrom, you're with me; we'll sweep around to the right and deal with that axeman. Virion, head straight through the centre, but for the love of Naga, _mind your distance_. Vaike, you wait here with Lissa and… Frederick?” He glances up at the great knight, who nods his acceptance. “Alright. No one is to cross the bridge, got it? Once this side's clear, Lissa will heal any injuries, and we'll cross as a group. Everyone understand? Good. Go!”  
  
Stahl and Sully gallop off to the left, but Chrom can't focus on them; he's busy following Reflet around the other way. The tactician grins at him, entire body seeming to vibrate with adrenaline. “After you!” he calls, gesturing to the charging axeman. Chrom chuckles and jumps into the fray, striking once. The return blow catches his sword arm; it's painful and inconvenient, but not life-threatening, yet. Even so, he allows Reflet to handle the axeman, and they tag-team the following lancer with ease, Reflet chopping the head off the lance and Chrom stabbing the Risen through the chest.   
  
There's a pause, then, and Reflet frowns at the gash on the prince's arm. “Come on,” he orders. “Better get Lissa to look at that.”  
  
He says this in a voice that clearly states ‘I am the tactician, you will do as I say’, and Chrom decides it's best not to argue.   
  
“Splendid!” comes a familiar voice as they get closer. “It seems I've caught up. Now to extirpate these brutes…”  
  
“Who's that, my liege?” Reflet asks quietly.   
  
Chrom shakes his head at the title, but decides not to bring it up. “Miriel. You remember, Stahl mentioned her?”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“Hmm?” Miriel says suddenly. “Is that an axe? Why yes it is… Perhaps someone mislaid it? I'd not thought such dereliction permissible among the Shepherds. Still, I'd be remiss to not return this implement to its owner. Perhaps along with a stern word or two of disapprobation!”  
  
“Big words,” Reflet murmurs. “Lissa, your brother has gotten himself injured… Care to take a look?”  
  
As Lissa moves to join them, Frederick at her side, Vaike sidles up to Miriel. “Woah! My axe!”  
  
Miriel sighs, pushing her glasses up her nose. “I wondered what manner of ignoramus would mislay their weapon. Now I know.”  
  
“Thanks, Miriel!” Vaike cheers. “…Er, for the axe, anyway.”  
  
The redhead glares at him. “Perhaps next time I'll use a spell to fasten it to your hands… permanently.”  
  
Reflet chuckles. “Hello, Miriel.”  
  
“Greetings,” the mage replies. “You are our new tactician, I assume?”  
  
The Plegian bows. “That would be me. Speaking of which- Stahl! Sully! Could you come back here, please?”  
  
There aren't any other major wounds, so Lissa leans back against a tree to watch. “Alright,” Reflet says, staring across the river, “from what I can see, they've got… an axeman near the front—Chrom and I can deal with him, maybe Virion can help—and then a lancer, axeman and swordsman on each side…? Not too bad, should be pretty simple. Chrom, Miriel, Vaike and I can take the right hand side. Frederick, Sully and Stahl, you'll handle the left. Lissa, either wait here or stick close to Frederick. Virion, you just… keep your distance, help anyone who seems to need it. Got it? Good. Let's finish this!”  
  
The axeman at the shoreline is easy to beat; a strike from Falchion and a well-timed arrow courtesy of Virion send him staggering to the ground. The Shepherds branch out easily, scattering left and right. Vaike, Miriel at his side, charges directly for the nearby lancer; Chrom and Reflet share a glance and target their side's axeman.   
  
When Chrom next looks around the battlefield, there's only one Risen left; it stands still, axe raised, snarling. Reflet smirks. “Do you mind if I…?” He makes a quick gesture towards the creature with his swords.   
  
Chrom shakes his head. “Not at all. By all means, go for it.”  
  
Reflet bows in thanks and leaps forward. It's like he's everywhere at once, blades leaving long wounds across the Risen's body. By the time it finally dies, it looks less like something that could have been alive and more like the body of someone who was cut to shreds and thrown into a pit for a few weeks.   
  
Reflet coughs. “…Too much?” he asks self-consciously.   
  
Chrom blinks. “Maybe a little,” he acknowledges. “But perfectly understandable.” He sighs. “At least they're gone now; and good riddance! But if they're appearing this far up the Northroad…”  
  
Frederick nods. “Then no path is safe. We'll need to stay wary.”  


* * *

  
  
They get several miles further without any incident; when something does happen, it's not even a bad surprise.   
  
Reflet pauses. “Well,” he murmurs, “what do we have here?”  
  
“Hey, is that what I think it is?” Lissa asks.   
  
“It's a pegasus, all right,” Chrom replies, stepping closer. “I think it's hurt. Let's just have a look here…”  
  
As soon as he moves within arm's reach, the pegasus rears up at him. “Woah!” he yelps. “Down, girl! Easy there!”  
  
“Captain, one moment!” Sumia calls suddenly, stepping forward. She makes it two paces before tripping over her own feet and falling on her face.   
  
“Sumia!” Chrom yelps. “Are you alright? …Those boots of yours again?”  
  
Sumia flushes. “No! I mean, yes! I mean…” She gives up, sighing.   
  
Chrom sighs as well. “Well, come no closer. This beast is crazed!” He gestures at the pegasus.   
  
“It's okay, Captain,” Sumia assures him. “I can handle this… “Shhh… Easy now, girl. I won't hurt you.” She steps forward, resting a hand on the mare's muzzle. “Shhh…” she says again.   
  
Reflet hisses in surprise. “How did she calm it so quickly?” he murmurs.   
  
“That's incredible, Sumia!” Lissa cheers.   
  
“I've never seen anything like it,” Chrom agrees.   
  
“Oh, it's… it's nothing,” Sumia replies. “Really. I just have a way with animals, I guess.”  
  
“I should say so!” the prince agrees.   
  
“You all go on ahead,” Sumia suggests. “I'll dress her wounds and catch up as soon as we're able.”  
  
“We can make time to wait for you,” Chrom offers.   
  
“Thank you, Captain. But I can manage.” The young woman smiles. “Every moment is precious when all of Ylisse is in danger.”  
  
“Right, then,” Chrom acquiesces. “Be safe, Sumia.”  
  
“As you command, sir.”  
  
And with that, the Shepherds continue on their way.   



	5. Warrior Realm

**_Chapter III: Warrior Realm_** **** _  
The Longfort_  
  
“Brrr!” Lissa complains. “F-F-Frederick! I'm f-f-freezing!”  
  
The great knight chuckles. “Stand beside my horse, milady. She'll shelter you from the wind.”  
  
Reflet scowls, wrapping his cloak a little tighter around himself with a shudder. “I'd forgotten how damned cold it is here…” he mutters. “So this is the fortress?”  
  
“Yes, the Longfort,” Chrom replies. “It stretches along the border of Ylisse and Regna Ferox.” He glances at the tactician. “You've been here before; surely you remember it?”  
  
The tactician shakes his head. “I… I came up through Plegia, I think,” he replies uncertainly. “Either that, or it's another blank…”  
  
Frederick snorts, but doesn't comment. “The khans that rule Ferox have grown quite wary of foreigners,” he cautions. “Still, don't mistake a lack of hospitality for open hostility. This simply calls for a bit of diplomacy.”  
  
Chrom sighs. “Negotiation's not my strong suit, but I'll do my best. Remember, everyone,” he adds, glancing over his shoulder at the other Shepherds, “your actions here reflect back upon Ylisse.”  
  
Frederick glances up at the fort, one hand rising to shield his eyes from the snow. “Trouble in the wind, milord,” he calls. “The Feroxi Guard are mobilising.”  
  
“What?!” Chrom snaps. “Why?”  
  
“Perhaps they've also been having trouble with brigands?” Reflet suggests, lips pursed.   
  
“Who can say?” Frederick sighs. “But they look ready to let fly at a moment's notice. We'd best prepare for combat, just to be safe. Perhaps we ought pool our supplies and select which Shepherds to deploy? Loath as I am to trust him, Reflet might offer some valuable insight in this…”  
  
“Indeed,” Chrom agrees, “he is our tactician, after all. So, Reflet? What do you suggest?”  
  
Reflet frowns. “Alright… Lissa! Frederick! Sully! Stahl! Vaike! Virion! And, of course, you, my liege,” he adds as an afterthought. “We'll be fighting, should it come to that. Miriel, wait here.”  
  
They all nod their assent; already, Reflet has made it clear that in combat situations, they are to do as he says _immediately_ , with no arguments. The tactician frowns. “Let's see… Well, they have archers on the right, but none on the walls, as far as I can see… Virion, Vaike, you'll come with Chrom and I to tackle them. The rest of you, head around the other side. Once we've cleared the base, we'll have Lissa heal any injuries before we head up to the walls. We'll split apart, go up both sides, and trap them between our forces.” He claps once. “Let's get started.”  
  
They take positions, just as one of the soldiers—the commander, no doubt—moves to speak with them. “Halt! Who goes there?!” she shouts.   
  
Chrom takes a deep breath. “On behalf of House Ylisse, I seek audience with the khans!” he calls back.   
  
“Not another step, my bold lad!” the knight yells. “I've lancers at the ready!”  
  
Reflet mutters something that sounds like “Yes, we can see that.” Chrom reaches back to smack him.   
  
“Hold, milady!” Frederick calls. “We are not your enemy! Exalt Emmeryn herself sent us to discuss matters of mutual interest.”  
  
The knight scowls. “My only interest is keeping you out of Regna Ferox, brigand!”  
  
“B-brigand?” the great knight below her sputters. “Now see here-”  
  
“You think you are the first ‘Ylisseans’ to try and cross our border?” the woman scoffs. “I have the authority to fell such impostors where they stand.”  
  
“How dare you!” Frederick returns. “You are in the presence of Prince Chrom, the exalt's own blood!”  
  
“Ha!” the knight calls back. “Yes, indeed; and I'm the queen of Valm! You do realise impersonating royalty is a capital offence, yes? Mmm… Then perhaps we should settle this the Feroxi way.” She stares down at Chrom. “You claim to be the prince of Ylisse? Then prove it on the battlefield!”  
  
Chrom groans. “Emmeryn won't like this at all…” he mutters. Then, louder, “Please, good lady! If you'd just listen-”  
  
“I've heard quite enough!” the Feroxi interrupts. “Attack!”  
  
The lancers throw. Chrom grimaces, instinctively moving to cover his face, waiting for the initial pain-  
  
There's a flicker of motion, and the spears dig into the earth where Chrom had been standing moments before. The prince blinks, staring uncomprehendingly around him for a minute. “Sumia?”  
  
The young woman doesn't bother with greetings, instead focusing on controlling the pegasus beneath them. “Better hold on tight, Captain,” she suggests. “Could get bumpy.”  
  
“Uh… right,” Chrom replies, tone conveying his distinct confusion at the sudden turn of events.   
  
Sumia turns to smile at him. “You'll be fine.”  
  
The prince just shakes his head in surprised amazement, grinning at her in return. Then he turns, seeing the lancers readying fresh spears. “Sumia!” he warns, drawing Falchion.   
  
“Right!” she replies, steering the pegasus in a wide circle to return to the others.   
  
Upon landing, she sighs in relief. “Oh, Captain, I'm so relieved I made it in time.”  
  
“That goes double for me, Sumia!” Chrom chuckles. “And this- is this the same ornery pegasus we met on the road?!”  
  
Sumia giggles. “Oh, she's a sweetheart, isn't she? …Once you really get to know her…”  
  
The prince runs a hand through his hair. “Well, many thanks to you both.”  
  
Lissa laughs. “I think the pegasus is blushing!”  
  
Frederick sighs, drawing their attention. “And I think we had all best focus on the situation at hand!” he snaps.   
  
“Right, right…” Reflet mumbles, dragging his gaze away from the pegasus. He freezes. “Chrom, they're coming!”  
  
“All right,” the prince sighs. “The Feroxi way it is!” He shoots a glance at Reflet. “You knew it would come to this, didn't you? That's why you gave us our orders before the fighting even started.”  
  
Reflet just shrugs. “I thought it plausible.” He turns to Sumia. “Pegasi are fast, and they can travel quite far. But they're vulnerable to arrows, so you'd best go around the right, avoid their archers. Other than that, you all know the plan. Get moving!”  
  
The Shepherds take off. Chrom moves to follow, then hesitates. “Why do I feel like I'm being watched…?”  
  
“Um, sir?” comes a new voice, seemingly from nowhere. “…Sir! Right here, sir!”  
  
“Who's there?” Chrom asks. “Show yourself!”  
  
Reflet stares at him. “Ah, my liege, can't you see-”  
  
“I'm standing in plain sight, sir,” the knight interrupts. “Right he-”  
  
Chrom jumps back with a noise he'll later insist was _not_ a scream. “Oh! I-is that you, Kellam? When did you arrive?”  
  
“…The same time as you,” Kellam replies. “I've been with you all along.” He pauses. “Er, I _am_ still a Shepherd, right? It's quite the honour, after all. I'd hate to lose it. Sometimes I-”  
  
“Of course, Kellam,” Chrom sighs. “Forgive me. You're just so… quiet, I completely-”  
  
“Quite all right, sir, quite all right,” Kellam chuckles, waving a hand dismissively. “I've been told I'm easy to miss.”  
  
“At least the Feroxi didn't find you,” Chrom says optimistically.   
  
Kellam sighs. “I've been calling to you and waving my arms for several minutes… I don't think they've so much as glanced this way.”  
  
The prince frowns. “You almost sound disappointed.”  
  
The knight blinks. “Well, I just…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I'm glad you finally saw me! Just try to keep an eye out from now on?”  
  
Reflet glances between the pair of them. “…Wait a second,” he says eventually. “You actually had _no idea_ he was here, the whole time?”  
  
“Well, no,” Chrom replies. “…You did?”  
  
The tactician shrugs. “I assumed you were all aware of him. I mean, that armour isn't exactly unobtrusive.”  
  
“Well, he- That is, we- And you-” The lord groans. “Oh, never mind!”  
  
Reflet laughs softly, swords swinging up to block an arrow that would otherwise have gone through his heart. “If you'll excuse me?”  
  
“Mm? Oh, yes, go on.” Chrom shakes his head, sighing at his tactician's impeccable manners. “Not that you need my permission…”  
  
“It's only polite,” the other replies primly, cutting clean through the bowstring of one of the archers and hitting him upside the head with the pommel of his sword. “Oh, a key!” He grins. “We can use it to open the fortress doors.”  
  
Judging from the general sounds of mayhem, the others are doing fine on their side as well; Chrom grins and takes a quick look at his own group.   
  
Vaike's taken an arrow to the shoulder; it looks painful, but not particularly dangerous. Kellam's armour has kept him safe from any stray arrows, much to the clear annoyance of the remaining archer. Virion and Reflet, as well as Chrom himself, are uninjured as well, thanks to a combination of luck and insane reflexes.   
  
The prince clubs the nearby lancer over the head, the Feroxi crumpling just as Virion shoots an arrow into the other archer's hand. Vaike punches him in the face, shrugging at Reflet's irritated frown. “Hey, he shoots me, I punch him!”  
  
Reflet sighs. “…Fair,” he admits. “Come on, let's get over to Lissa, get that shoulder healed up.”  
  
Upon gathering near the centre, they discover that the Shepherds' injuries are mostly minor, other than Vaike and Sumia, who took a lance to the side and is catching her breath off to one side. Sully and Stahl have a few scrapes, and Frederick is more or less uninjured.   
  
Chrom sighs, smiling as he watches his sister work, Reflet talking quietly to the Shepherds, undoubtedly explaining the next part of his strategy. “It already feels as though Reflet has been a Shepherd forever,” the prince muses aloud to himself. “It's funny how fighting alongside someone speeds friendships along… And the more we fight side by side, the more valuable those friendships become!”  
  
“Hm?” the Plegian in question asks, moving to join him. “Did you say something, my liege?”  
  
“Oh, nothing important,” Chrom assures him. “Shall we?”  
  
Reflet just nods, grabbing the prince's wrist and pulling towards the fortress doors. Chrom blinks at the unexpected contact, but says nothing, instead following his tactician to the door, where the other releases him and tugs out the key he took from the archer. “Basically,” he explains as he unlocks the door, “we run up the stairs and clear this side of the wall. The others will handle the other side. Vaike, Virion and Sumia should be right behind us- Oh, there you are!” He addresses this last remark to the three Shepherds in question. The lock clicks, and pushes the door open, immediately stumbling back into Chrom's chest to evade the lance the knight on the other side of the door stabs towards him.   
  
Chrom rests a hand on the younger man's back to steady him, Falchion flashing past to stab into a gap in the knight's armour. Reflet flushes, murmuring thanks as he steps away from the prince, stepping cautiously through the doorway. (Vaike, it must be said, seems to be trying very hard not to say anything, equalling Virion's desperate attempts to not laugh. Sumia just seems confused.)  
  
The rest of the fort is easy enough to clear, until only the commander remains. Kindly enough, she makes no attempt to attack as Lissa quickly heals the long wound the knight left along Reflet's cheek, instead waiting until he and Chrom cautiously approach.   
  
“Let our battle sound out the truth of your words!” she calls. Reflet nods politely, drawing his swords once more.   
  
The commander is quick, for a knight; the Shepherds find themselves kept away by a volley of javelins, and the few hits they manage to score bounce harmlessly off her armour. Reflet scowls. “Dammit, I didn't want to do this,” he hisses, digging around in his cloak.   
  
Chrom stares at him. “I don't think that bow of yours will-”  
  
“Chrom, would you kindly shut up?” the other hisses, drawing a book from his pockets and flipping through it, dodging a javelin as he does.   
  
“…Wait,” Lissa says quietly. “Is that a-”  
  
She's cut off by the whispered words of a chant, and a cloud of darkness streams from his hand and knocks the knight's next javelin from her hand. “Now, Chrom!” Reflet snaps; the prince shakes himself from his awed trance and slams Falchion's hilt into the commander's head, knocking her to the ground.   
  
She grunts in pain. “Then your claims were… true…”  
  
Reflet sighs, ignoring the stares of the other Shepherds at this display of dark magic. He reaches out to offer the commander a hand up.   
  
She takes it, bowing contritely. “A thousand apologies, Prince Chrom,” she murmurs. “I truly took you for brigand impostors. But no frauds could ever wage a battle as you just have! I am Raimi, commander of the Longfort; I will send word of your arrival to the capital and escort you there personally.”  
  
Chrom nods. “That would be most appreciated, thank you.”  
  
Raimi bows in response, then turns to walk away. “Amazing,” Reflet murmurs. “Her whole demeanor changed.”  
  
“In Ferox, strength speaks louder than words,” Frederick sighs. “I should have known better than to overestimate the value of diplomacy here…”  
  
Lissa grins. “So can we get going, Chrom?”  
  
The prince risks a glance at Reflet; his tactician looks away, giving off an aura of _I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it._ “Yes,” he agrees, “it's not getting any warmer.”  
  
With that, they continue on their way.   


* * *

  
  
When they eventually stop for the night, Chrom decides he's sick of Reflet avoiding him all day and pokes his head into the other's tent.   
  
Reflet squeaks, spins around, and reaches out to grab the mask that Chrom suddenly realises is sitting off to one side, rather than pressed to the Plegian's face. A part of him mourns the lost opportunity. The other part feels inexplicably embarrassed, as though he'd walked in on the other bathing or a similarly mortifying experience.   
  
“Don't you ever announce yourself?!” the tactician snaps, turning back to face him with the mask firmly in place once more, robes wrapped tightly around him. “Honestly, didn't they teach _manners_ in your fancy schools growing up?!”  
  
“Oh, gods, yes,” Chrom replies, trying to fight down the blush he can feel in his cheeks. “We spent an entire term on etiquette.”  
  
“Well, perhaps you could use another one!” Reflet actually seems legitimately upset, as opposed to the mildly-irritated look he usually sports when someone (typically Chrom) does something annoying. He's blushing too, bright red against his pale skin.   
  
“Uh, sorry,” Chrom replies. “Look, we need to talk.”  
  
“Then make it quick,” Reflet hisses, flopping down on the bed. “My liege,” he adds as an afterthought.   
  
Chrom sits at the desk. Usually he'd sit beside the tactician on the bed, but considering the sheer vexation hovering in the air, he decides it's best to keep his distance. “Earlier, when we were fighting Raimi. You used magic. Not just that, dark magic.”  
  
“Yes.” His tone is deadpan, lips perfectly straight. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking, which Chrom is sure is a good trait in a tactician, but right now it's just irritating. “What of it? My liege.”  
  
The prince groans in frustration. “I’ll be honest, you didn’t strike me as the type to use dark magic. I can understand a certain unease in informing new allies of your abilities in… that field, but you didn't even mention magic of any sort. Surely we deserved to know.”  
  
Reflet frowns, just the slightest downward twitch of his lips, but it's enough to convey his extreme displeasure. “With all due respect, my liege, what I can and cannot do is none of your concern. The only one who _needs_ to know what every member of the Shepherds is capable of is the tactician, which would be… Oh, that's right. Me. And I am.”  
  
It's the closest to antagonistic the typically even-tempered Plegian has ever gotten in Chrom's presence, and he blinks. “…It's a useful gift,” he says eventually. “You're far more powerful than Miriel. Why wouldn't you just-”  
  
“Because,” Reflet says coolly, “I don't use it unless there is no other option. We didn't have time to think of a different solution, and I don't need to use it most of the time. So I don't. That is all I will say on the matter. So please, leave me alone. My liege.”  
  
“Reflet,” Chrom says quietly, “please. The full truth.”  
  
“It doesn't matter.”  
  
“ _Reflet_.”  
  
“Fine,” the tactician snaps. “I don't use it because it's dangerous and I can't control it and I don't want anyone to be hurt by my ineptitude, and that is all I will say on the matter. Now _get out_!” His voice rises to a half-scream, and it's a little more than the situation calls for, but Chrom is digging far too deep and he has to cut this off now.   
  
He wants to stay; he wants to talk this over and fix things, because he's _never_ seen Reflet this upset and angry, and it's his fault, but he knows he'll only make matters worse. “…I'll see you in the morning,” he murmurs, hoping that will convey his regret at having pushed the issue when his tactician, his _friend_ , clearly didn't want to talk about it.   
  
And when he leaves the tent, Reflet presses his hand to his lips and pulls the mask from his face, and he pretends it doesn't hurt to drive away one of the only friends he's ever had.   
  
_It's better this way._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, not sure if I like this one. But I figured you guys deserve a double update for putting up with my bullshit update schedule, even if it's not my absolute best work.


	6. Two Falchions

**_Chapter IV: Two Falchions_** ** _  
Arena Ferox_**  
  
“Reflet,” Chrom says quietly, falling into place beside his tactician.   
  
The Plegian just smiles. “It's a beautiful day,” he comments, tracing curling patterns into the snow with his feet as he walks. It makes it look like he's dancing.   
  
The prince frowns. “It's cold,” he replies.   
  
Reflet laughs. “Ah, yes. But Plegia is a desert country, my liege; I'd never even _seen_ snow before I… left.” His smile falters for a moment, then he perks up again. “I imagine it would have been quite amusing if anyone had seen me, that first day. Robin, at least, would have said-” He stops, as though realising what he said, glancing around to see if anyone else heard.   
  
Chrom stares at him. “Prince Robin? You knew him?” he asks quietly.   
  
Reflet sighs, leaning closer. “Not well,” he murmurs, “and not for long. We were traveling the same way. I was… a soldier, in King Validar's army, and when he found out I was leaving, he asked me to take him with me.”  
  
“He left Plegia?”  
  
The Plegian nods. “Almost a year ago, not long after your father's assassination, my liege. I don't know why, before you ask; all he said was that he had to get away. He said… if I didn't want the risk, he could find his own way out of the country. But, the prince was always kind to me; I couldn't let him attempt to leave on his own.” He glances away, sighing. “It. Ah. It wasn't an easy journey. There were… soldiers. I… suppose the king had ordered them to bring Robin back? We stole horses from the stables before we left, and we traveled under false names, but we could never fully escape them. Eventually, I… switched horses and clothes with him. He hid in the woods off the road, and I drew off our pursuers. I don't know what happened to him after that…” He glances at Chrom. “Believe me, my liege, whatever crimes you believe the king committed, Robin is innocent in all this.”  
  
Chrom nods. “I believe you,” he murmurs. “What of the king and Lady Aversa? Do you know what they've been doing? And, where did you go after you and the prince split up?”  
  
“As far as I'm aware, the king is still searching for Robin,” the tactician replies. “Lady Aversa… Whatever else she may have done, I believe she loved the prince like a brother. She may well be trying to help him. Other than that… I have no idea. And, no, I don't know whether or not the king was truly unaware of the plot to assassinate the exalt; only his council, if anyone, is privy to that knowledge.”   
  
He runs a hand through his hair. “As for me… After Robin and I separated, I fled north, to Regna Ferox. My pursuers fell back once I crossed the border, though I didn't risk stopping for quite a ways further. A few months ago, I cut back through Plegia and crossed the border into Ylisse, traveled around for a while until I met up with you, Princess Lissa, and Sir Frederick. And you know the story from there.”  
  
“Oh,” Chrom says. It doesn't feel like enough. “Um.”  
  
“It's fine,” Reflet murmurs. “I'm safe, now, and I'm sure the prince is perfectly fine. It's… alright.” He shakes his head, brushing off the topic. “…You wanted to talk to me?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” Chrom replies. He has to rewind his memory to recall what, exactly, he had wanted to speak with the tactician about. “I just wanted to apologise… for last night. I didn't mean to upset you.”  
  
“Water under the bridge,” the other assures him. “You really didn't do anything wrong; you had every right to want to know. It had been a long day, I was tired… I overreacted, that's all. Let's just… move on. It never happened.”  
  
The prince is happy to accept this; he doesn't want to press too hard. If the Shepherds want to keep secrets, that's fine, as long as those secrets don't cause problems. That's the rule. “All right. …And, Reflet?”  
  
“Yes, my liege?”  
  
“Thank you.” He doesn't specify what for, and Reflet doesn't ask. He simply smiles gently, touching one hand to his mask as though ensuring it hasn't slipped.   
  
“Any time.”  


* * *

  
  
Later that day, Chrom stands with Frederick, Lissa and Reflet in the throne room of Regna Ferox, waiting for the khan.   
  
Raimi, standing before them, bows deeply. “Prince Chrom, please wait here while I summon the khan,” she requests.   
  
“Of course,” he replies politely. Raimi turns and walks away, and the four of them turn to speak among themselves.   
  
“The khan is away?” Reflet asks quietly.   
  
“Out training, I'd wager,” Chrom replies. “The khans of Ferox prefer battle to politics.”  
  
The tactician chuckles. “Or rather, battle _is_ their politics. I remember that much from my time here.”  
  
“A warrior ruler…” Lissa hums. “I can picture him now! A giant of a man who’s never been beaten in a fight, all hairy and fierce as a bear!”  
  
“Well, actually-” Reflet begins.   
  
“Am I now?” interrupts a woman's voice from off to one side, barely veiled amusement hovering in her tone. “…Please, do go on!”  
  
“Huh?” Lissa manages.   
  
The tactician laughs. “I was trying to tell you-”  
  
He cuts himself off as a woman in armour steps into the room. Chrom hisses in shock. “You're the-?! Er, that is to say… The khan, I presume?”  
  
“One of them, yes; the East-Khan,” the woman replies. “My name is Flavia.”  
  
Reflet steps forward, bowing his head neatly. “A pleasure to see you again, Khan Flavia,” he manages around his laughter.   
  
“Well, Reflet, it's about time you got your act together and visited us,” the khan replies warmly. “Although somehow I doubt that this is a social call.”  
  
“I wish it were,” Reflet says apologetically.   
  
Chrom coughs. “You two… know each other?”  
  
The Plegian frowns. “I didn't tell you? While I was living in Regna Ferox, I spent some time working as a sellsword here. Khan Flavia hired me for a time.”  
  
Flavia chuckles. “I imagine you'll find a lot of people who know the boy, all over the continent. He's spent a good amount of time traveling. But, to business,” she adds more seriously. “I apologise for the troubles at the border, Prince Chrom. You are welcome in Regna Ferox.”  
  
Chrom nods. “Thank you, but I'm confident we can put that misunderstanding behind us. Is it true bandits posing as Ylisseans have been ransacking your border villages?”  
  
“Yes,” Flavia sighs. “Those Plegian dogs!” She glances at Reflet. “Present company excepted, of course. We found documents proving as much on the corpse of one of their captains. Plegia must see some benefit in raising tensions between our kingdom and yours.”  
  
“Damn them!” Chrom snarls. Then he winces. “I… Forgive me, Your Grace. That was… indelicately put.”  
  
Flavia laughs. “Damn them and damn delicacy! Here in Ferox, we appreciate plain speech.”  
  
The prince sighs, running a hand through his hair. “In that case, you should have a word with your damn border guards…”  
  
The khan chuckles warmly. “Now that's Feroxi diplomacy! Yes, I like you already. I know why you have come, Prince,” she adds more seriously. “But regrettably, I cannot provide any Feroxi troops for Ylisse.”  
  
“What?!” Lissa yelps. “Why not?!”  
  
“I lack the authority,” the other woman sighs.   
  
“Forgive me, but I don't understand,” Chrom interjects. “Aren't you the khan?”  
  
“As I said, I am _one_ of the khans,” Flavia replies.   
  
Reflet groans. “Don't tell me… The tournament?”  
  
“Yes, Reflet. The tournament.” She turns to the Ylisseans, noting their confused expressions. “In Ferox, the khans of east and west hold a tournament every few years. The victor acquires total sovereignty over both kingdoms. And that means they have the final say when it comes to forging alliances. The West-Khan won the last tournament, you see, and so…” She shrugs.   
  
Chrom sighs. “So we are to receive no aid at all?”  
  
“Not if you always give up so easily!” Flavia replies. “The next tournament is nigh, you see, and I am in need of champions.”  
  
“What does that have to so with us?” the prince asks.   
  
“The captain of my border guard informs me your Shepherds are quite capable,” Flavia replies. “Perhaps you would consider representing the East in the upcoming tournament? If you win and I become ruling khan, I will grant your alliance.”  
  
Chrom frowns. “I would have assumed Ylisseans had no place in such Feroxi traditions.”  
  
Flavia laughs. “Reflet, did you tell him nothing about our ways? On the contrary! The khans themselves do not fight; they choose champions to represent them. Otherwise our land would be rife with blood feuds and dead khans! We don't involve comrades or kin for the same reason. Over time, it was decided the tournament should be fought by outsiders. Although the outsiders have never included foreign royalty. …That I know of!” She looks between the four of them. “Regardless, it is your choice to make.”  
  
“There is no choice, East-Khan,” Chrom replies. “My people are desperate. We face not only Plegia's constant attacks, but now the added threat of the Risen. If fighting for you is the quickest way to an alliance, then we will take up our steel.”  
  
“Oh, I like you, Prince Chrom,” Flavia remarks. “I do hope you survive the tournament! Come. I'll show you the arena where the tournament is held. But be wary! I hear an equally able swordsman champions the West-Khan.”  
  
Chrom nods. “He shall be defeated by Ylisse's necessity.”  
  
“Well spoken again,” comes the reply. “I look forward to seeing if you're equally skilled with a blade!”  
  
She leads them quickly to the arena, and then leaves them to prepare. Chrom turns to his tactician. “…Er, Reflet… When she said she hoped I survived, did she actually mean…”  
  
Reflet sighs. “Yes, my liege. The tournament often becomes a fight to the death, although it isn't necessary. The West-Khan has changed champions, too, from what I could hear; that's not a good sign. His previous champion was incredibly talented. If he's found a new one…” He shakes his head. “Now, we're allowed six soldiers. I'd suggest the two of us, Lissa, Frederick, Sully and Stahl.”  
  
Chrom nods, going to gather the Shepherds in question. Reflet nods a greeting. “I see a lot of axe-wielders; keep an eye out for the mages and knights, but they shouldn't be much of a threat. Sully, Stahl, you'll head up the right side of the arena; Frederick, Lissa, take the middle; Chrom and I will handle the left. Got it? Then let's get this tournament started.”  
  
They take up their positions. Lissa gasps. “Chrom! Look!”  
  
The Shepherds' eyes swing to the far end of the arena, where Marth stands ready. Chrom sighs. “I see him…”  
  
The other swordsman doesn't speak. Chrom frowns. “Marth! One question, before we begin?”  
  
No answer, again. “…Fine, then,” the prince decides. “Our swords can speak for us!”  
  
He draws Falchion. Marth does likewise, the glittering, impossibly familiar blade the only part of the sword visible, the rest hidden in the shadows. Chrom gasps. “Where did you get that?”  
  
No response. The prince's eyes narrow. “There's no way…”  
  
He charges, leaping high and bringing Falchion down on the other swordsman with his full weight and momentum behind it. Marth blocks the strike with a grunt of effort, pushing the prince back. He goes on the offensive, Chrom backing away, knocking each attempted blow to the side. “Tell me,” he asks above the clang of blades meeting, “who taught you to fight like that?” Their blades lock together as he speaks, and both swordsmen retreat a couple paces, spinning their swords about their bodies in the same flashy maneuver.   
  
They both move at the same time, swords clashing once more as they pass each other. By the time Chrom has turned around, Marth has leapt into the air in the exact same move as Chrom used at the beginning of the fight. “My father!” he snaps, bringing his sword down where Chrom had been standing just a second before. He turns gracefully to point his sword directly at the other man. The prince frowns back.   
  
“Chrom!” Reflet snaps, pulling the other back to the Shepherds. “What were you thinking, going after Marth alone?! Don't be such an idiot!” He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he forces himself to calm down. “…Marth is a gifted swordsman, and his men look capable as well. We should mind our distance.”  
  
“Right,” Chrom agrees. “Be careful, everyone. It would be a pity to have survived fighting Risen only to die in a tournament.”  
  
The Shepherds nod their understanding and take off. The battle, to be honest, is quite straightforward, almost too easy; Chrom and Reflet attempt to incapacitate rather than kill whenever possible, and from what few glimpses they get, the others are likewise aiming to leave as many alive as they can.   
  
It's not long before only Marth remains, and Chrom steps forward to challenge him again, Reflet at his side. “Who is your father?” he asks curiously.   
  
“I've said enough for one day, sir,” Marth replies.   
  
“Hmph,” the prince snorts. “Is that how it is? Reflet owes you his life, and for that you have my gratitude. But within these walls, I represent the East-Khan and the interests of Ylisse. I can't promise to stay my blade, but I vow not to shame you.”  
  
Marth chuckles. “Never expected such youthful arrogance…” he murmurs, mostly to himself. Then, louder, “We shall see who shames who!”  
  
With that, they begin. Chrom attacks first, Falchion swinging down hard and sending Marth reeling back. Reflet, spotting the opening this creates, darts forward, his own swords slicing at the other masked swordsman, murmuring an apology as he does so. Marth strikes back, then, his blade cutting deeply, but not fatally, into Chrom's side. The prince gasps at the sharp pain and reacts, Falchion shooting up towards Marth's head, only at the last second turning so the flat of the blade, rather than the razor-sharp edge, slams into the other's temple.   
  
Marth grunts, falling back. “Impressive…” he wheezes, “if not surprising…”  
  
Then he goes still. Reflet and Chrom share a grin, the former crouching beside the fallen swordsman. “He's going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up,” he predicts, “but he'll be fine. Nice work, Chrom.” He smiles brightly, that special, warm smile he seems to save just for Chrom, and the prince feels himself flushing.   
  
“Oh, uh, thanks, Reflet,” he manages, feeling like his tongue has turned to rubber.   
  
Flavia chuckles, stepping forward across the arena. The Shepherds go to meet her. “Well fought!” she calls. “You have my respect. And, perhaps more to the point, you have your alliance. I will provide Ylisse with the soldiers she needs.”  
  
“Truly?” Chrom asks. “Thank you, East-Khan.”  
  
“I should thank you!” she replies warmly. “It feels like ages since I've held full power. Come, my new friends! Tonight, we celebrate!” She turns and runs from the arena, calling something about mead over her shoulder.   
  
“Bah!” comes a new voice from behind them. “Any excuse for a party and Flavia jumps on it…”  
  
They turn, eyeing the dark-skinned man behind them. “I'm sorry,” Chrom asks, “have we met?”  
  
“I'm the West-Khan you so rudely removed from power!” the other snaps. “You're handy with a sword, boy. I thought for sure I'd picked the stronger man. And that damned tactician of yours…”  
  
“Nice to see you, too, Basilio,” Reflet replies sweetly. The West-Khan sighs, a reluctant smile appearing on his face, but he doesn't reply.   
  
Chrom coughs, drawing the attention back to him. “What do you know about him?”  
  
“You mean that ‘Marth’?” Basilio checks. “Bah! He's just some sellsword with delusions of grandeur. All I know is he turned up one eve and knocked my old champion flat. It was love at first sight, and I'm generally too old for such things!” He laughs heartily. “Anyway, he's gone now. Up and fled the moment the tournament ended.”   
  
Chrom and Reflet turn around. Sure enough, Marth is gone.   
  
“He's so dark and mysterious…” Lissa sighs.   
  
Reflet chuckles. “Sounds like Marth's got at least one fan…”  
  
Two, Chrom thinks, if his tactician's blush is anything to go by. He's annoyed by that thought, though he doesn't know why.   
  
“Well, I mean, c'mon…” Lissa hums. “He _is_ sort of dreamy, isn't he?”  
  
“And _you're_ sort of dreaming!” Chrom snaps.   
  
“Yowch!” his sister giggles. “Lighten up, Big Brother. I was just kidding.”  
  
Reflet smiles at him, the faintest hint of a blush still visible. “Are you… _jealous_ , my liege?”  
  
Frederick coughs, covering the sound of Chrom's splutters as he tries to think of an answer. “Milord? Milady? If this fascinating discussion is over, we'd best return home. The exalt will want this news of our new alliance immediately.”  
  
“Right as always, Frederick,” Chrom says gratefully.   
  
“Hold, boy,” Basilio interrupts. “Before you go, I have a little present for you.”  
  
A dark-haired man dressed in long, flowing robes steps forward, staring at them.   
  
“This is Lon'qu, my former champion,” Basilio introduces. “Not much for talking, mind you, but he's peerless with a sword. As good as Marth, in my mind. To be honest, I can't figure out how Marth bested him so quickly.”  
  
“Marth beat him?” Lissa asks. “But he looks so big and strong…” She steps forward.   
  
Lon'qu's gaze snaps to her. “Away, woman!”  
  
“Hey!” the princess snaps. “Wh-what did I say?!”  
  
Basilio and Reflet laugh. “Let's just say that woman tend to put Lon'qu on edge,” Reflet explains, nodding to the other man in greeting. Lon'qu nods back.   
  
Basilio coughs. “Nonetheless, he is capable. Perhaps he even has the makings of a khan. Consider him West Ferox's contribution to the Ylissean cause.”  
  
“You're certain about this?” Chrom checks.   
  
“Yes, yes,” the khan replies. “He's your man now.”  
  
“And Lon'qu?” the prince continues. “You have no objections?”  
  
The other man shrugs. “He gives orders. I stab people. I think our roles are clear.”   
  
“…All right, then,” Chrom accepts. “Welcome aboard.”  


* * *

  
  
It takes them a couple days to reach Ylisstol, but once they do, Emmeryn sees them straight away. It doesn't take long for Chrom to explain what happened.   
  
“…Then Regna Ferox will support Ylisse?” the exalt checks. “Thank you, Chrom. I knew sending you was the right choice.”  
  
“You should see Ferox's warriors!” Chrom tells her. “Perhaps now our people will be safe from-”  
  
It's at that point Phila runs into the room. “Your Grace! M-milord! Forgive me, but I bring alarming news!”  
  
“Phila!” Emmeryn interjects. “Slow down, please! What's happened?”  
  
“Plegian soldiers have been spotted inside our southwest border!” the pegasus knight reports. “They attacked a village in Themis and abducted the duke's daughter.”  
  
“B-but that would be… Maribelle!” Lissa gasps. “Chrom, we have to do something!”  
  
“There's more,” Phila continues. “It… appears King Gangrel is not actually dead. He appeared soon after, and claims Lady Maribelle invaded _his_ country. He demands we pay reparations for this ‘insult’.”  
  
“He's… still alive?” Chrom hisses. “Even so, are we supposed to believe a dastard like the Mad King of Plegia?”  
  
“Peace, Chrom,” Emmeryn soothes. “We must keep our wits about us.”  
  
Chrom scowls. “You should put a sword in his gut and be done with it! Send him back to death! Before he disappeared, the Mad King tried to provoke war with Ylisse at every step! He won't stop until he drags this whole continent to hell with him!”  
  
“I agree with the prince, Your Grace,” Phila adds. “We must demonstrate to Plegia that such actions have consequences.”  
  
Emmeryn sighs. “I understand your feelings, Chrom. Truly I do. But if we give him the war he wants, then we lose, no matter what the outcome. Our last conflict nearly ruined the halidom. It left Ylisseans homeless and starving. We cannot repeat that mistake.” She closes her eyes for a long moment. “I will offer parley with Gangrel.”  
  
“Emm, no!” Lissa begs. “You can't!”  
  
“Please reconsider, Your Grace,” Phila advises. “He cannot be trusted to act in good faith!”  
  
“So either we choose to match to war or leave Maribelle to die?” the exalt asks quietly. “No. I will not accept that.”  
  
“…Forgive me, Your Grace,” the pegasus knight sighs. “I spoke out of turn. I know you will stand always by your own principles. Pray, allow the pegasus knights to accompany you, though.”  
  
“I'm going, too,” Chrom decides. “…Someone has to save you from your good intentions.”  
  
“And I want to be there for you _and_ Maribelle!” Lissa adds.   
  
“As you wish,” the exalt agrees. “Thank you all. Your strength will be mine.”  
  
The prince sighs. “Reflet isn't going to like this…” he predicts gloomily.   


* * *

  
  
Reflet does not like it.   
  
“She's doing _what_?!”  
  
Half a dozen heads turn towards them, and Chrom pulls the tactician off to the currently-empty training room, shutting the door behind them. “Keep your voice down!” he hisses. “Most of the Shepherds don't know Emmeryn is going. We figured it was better to keep it quiet as long as possible.”  
  
“Chrom, this is insane!” Reflet hisses back. “Utterly insane! She's going to get herself killed!”  
  
“You don't know that.”  
  
“I do know that! I know Gangrel- I-” He stops, shaking his head. “There are worse things than death, and if he gets his hands on your sister he will visit them _all_ on her!”  
  
He's shaking, tremors running down his spine. “Y-you can't let her do this,” he says quietly, hidden eyes meeting Chrom's. “I swear, he will destroy her.”  
  
The prince grabs Reflet's shoulders. “It'll be fine. We'll be there, we'll keep her safe. Hey!” he adds, forcing his tactician's chin up to meet his eyes. Well, mask. “When haven't the two of us been able to handle anything the world could throw at us?”  
  
“Well, never. But, Chrom-”  
  
Chrom presses a finger to the younger man's lips. “So long as we work together,” he promises, “everything will turn out fine.”  
  
“…Alright,” Reflet sighs. “I just pray you're right. For all our sakes.”  


* * *

  
  
Later that night, the Shepherds gather in a courtyard. “Well then?” Chrom asks. “Is everyone ready to go? It's a long march through the western mountains to the Plegian border.”  
  
A boy runs over to join them, grinning. “Captain!” he calls. “I'm all packed! When do we leave?!”  
  
“Ricken?” the prince says incredulously. “How did you… Go back inside. You're not old enough for this mission.”  
  
“But, Captain!” Ricken complains. “You know my skill with magic! You know I can handle myself!”  
  
Chrom sighs. “I'd feel safer with your magic here, protecting the garrison. All right? We're off, then. Be good.”  
  
With that, they leave. Reflet shoots the prince a sideways glance. “Be good?”  
  
“Oh, shut up.”  
  
Ricken, still standing in the courtyard, scowls. “‘Be good’?” he repeats. “Gods, how old does he think I am?”  
  
He smirks determinedly. “…Well, I'll show him just how good I can be!”  



	7. The Exalt and the (Ex-)King

**_ Chapter V: The Exalt and the King _ ** **_  
**Border Pass** _ **

Emmeryn, Chrom and Lissa come to a halt in the pass between Ylisse and Plegia, staring up at the ledge above them. The rest of the Shepherds stir uneasily a few dozen metres further back.

"What's this, then?" Gangrel calls down. "The exalt herself, in all her radiance? I fear I must shield my eyes!" He laughs harshly.

Emmeryn closes her eyes for a moment. "Gangrel-"

" _Lord_ Gangrel, please!" the ex-king snaps. "Just because I'm not king anymore doesn't mean I'm not a noble!"

"Lord Gangrel, then," Emmeryn acquiesces. "I've come for the truth of this unfortunate incident between us."

"The truth?" the white-haired woman beside him asks. "I can give you the truth."

"…Lady Aversa," Emmeryn acknowledges. "I must admit, I'm surprised to see you away from the king…"

Aversa sighs. "These things happen. I'm… looking for someone, you see, and milord didn't want me to leave."

"Prince Robin?" Chrom asks, remembering Reflet's words on the way to Ferox.

"…Perhaps, perhaps not," the other replies coolly. "Now, who told you Prince Robin had left Plegia? Other than the king and I, only two people knew. And one of them is dead. So, that means-" She stops, eyes wide.

"Very well, Aversa," Emmeryn interjects. "Is Maribelle unharmed?"

"Who?" Gangrel asks. "Oh yes, the little blonde brat."

He gestures to the far end of the pass, where Maribelle stands, hands tied together, a Plegian soldier holding her in place. "Unhand me, you gutter-born troglodyte!" she snaps.

"Maribelle!" Lissa wails.

"Lissa?" the noblewoman asks. "Darling, is that you?"

Aversa laughs. "This girl crossed the Plegian border without our consent. And what's more… She wounded the brave Plegian soldiers who sought only to escort her safely home."

" _Lies_!" Maribelle cries in return. "You speak nothing but lies, hag! Did they not teach the meaning of the word 'truth' in wretched-crone school?!"

"…You see?" the other asks. "No manners at all. Such a nasty little bird simply had to be caged."

Gangrel clears his throat. "Such a violent temper speaks to her guilt. This will call for a weighty punishment. And if she were to later confess to being an Ylissean spy? My goodness!" He laughs cruelly. "It would take an act of _considerable_ good faith to repair our relations."

"I have done nothing wrong!" Maribelle snaps. "It is they who should confess! They are the ones who invaded Ylisse. They razed an entire village! When I attempted to intervene, they took me and dragged me across the border. Let the plundered shops and charred homes of that village serve as my proof!"

Gangrel chuckles. "That would only prove Ylisse has a bandit problem; something I hear oft of late… But indeed, tonight I shall weep salty tears into my pillow for your dead villagers."

"Your Grace, please!" Maribelle yells.

"Peace, Maribelle," Emmeryn sighs. "I believe you." She turns her attention back to the once-king. "Lord Gangrel, I request that you release this woman at once. Surely you and I can sort out these affairs without the need for hostages."

"Without so much as an apology?" Gangrel asks. "Why should I even bother with parley? I'm within my rights to have her head this instant and be home in time for supper."

"You black-hearted devil!" Chrom snaps.

"Control your dog, my dear, before he gets someone hurt," the noble calls down. He sounds almost bored. Chrom growls in frustration, but falls silent.

"Now then, Your Graceliness," Gangrel continues. "Perhaps we can arrange a trade?" He smirks. "You give me the Fire Emblem, and I return Mari Contrary here in one piece."

"You would ask for Ylisse's royal treasure?" Emmeryn asks. "But why?"

"Because I know the legend!" the ex-king explains. "The Fire Emblem is the key to having all one's wishes realised. I have desired it for years. _Years_! …Yet my birthday comes and goes each year, and nothing from Ylisse." He chuckles at his own joke.

"The Emblem's power is meant for a single purpose, Lord Gangrel," the exalt replies. "To save the world and its people at their hour of most desperate need. Would you claim a more noble wish?"

Gangrel laughs. "I want what every Plegian wants; a grisly end for every last Ylissean! What could be more noble than that?"

"What?" Emmeryn gasps.

"Surely you have not forgotten what the last exalt did to my people?" the other asks mockingly. "Your father named us heathens! His 'crusade' across Plegia butchered thousands of my subjects and my kin!"

"…I have never denied Ylisse's past wrongdoings," the exalt begins slowly. "But I have sworn to never repeat those mistakes. Ours is now a realm of peace."

"Yours is now a haven of hypocrisy!" Gangrel snaps. "Now give me the Fire Emblem!"

"No, Your Grace!" Maribelle calls. "I'd sooner die than act as a bargaining chip for this filthy reprobate!"

"No, Maribelle…" Emmeryn sighs.

The ex-king groans. "Taaaaaalk talk-talk-talk-talk. It's time to speak louder than words! This negotiation is over, Your Luminosity! I shall have the Emblem if I have to pry it from your shiny dead hands!"

Three of his soldiers step forward. Chrom draws Falchion and attacks, killing the nearest one in a single swing. "Stay back!" he warns. "Or you'll all suffer the same fate!"

"Now that's a declaration of war if I've ever heard one…" Gangrel muses. "A big, messy war that will bleed you Ylisseans dry." He laughs.

Aversa leaves the ledge, moving to stand by Maribelle. "Poor, stupid girl…" she sighs. “Are you really worth fighting a war over? Years from now, you'll be remembered only as she who destroyed House Ylisse."

"No…" Maribelle murmurs. "That's not… Oh, Lissa… Please, no…"

It's then a blast of wind magic sends the guard behind the noblewomen flying backwards. A boy runs forward to join them. Aversa grunts in shock.

Ricken laughs. "Maribelle! Go! You're free!"

" _Ricken?!_ " Maribelle gasps. "What are you doing here?"

"Just run!" the young mage replies. "We can talk about it later!"

"Oh, is this your little boyfriend?" Aversa asks. "Isn't he just precious."

"Don't talk down to me, witch!" Ricken snaps, shooting a blast of air at the woman.

Aversa grunts, staggering back a pace. "W-wind magic?!" she hisses.

"Come on, Maribelle!" the mage calls.

"Right!" Maribelle replies. They move quickly, running further down the pass towards where the Shepherds are mobilising.

Aversa hisses in anger. "Wretched whelp! I should…" She relaxes. "No. Our soldiers have them outnumbered. The brats will be dead long before they can reach their comrades." She sighs. "This has my idiot brother's name written all over it…" A smile creeps over her face. "Found you."

Near the base of the pass, Reflet squints up at the events unfolding above them. "Ha!" he crows. "He's done it! Alright Shepherds, our first priority is to get to Maribelle and Ricken. It'd be depressing – not to mention really annoying – if they died now. Once they're safe, we'll deal with the Plegians. Go!"

At the top of the pass, Gangrel is equally ecstatic. "I have my war!" he laughs. "Captain Orton! Remain here, and take down as many Ylisseans as you can. You can expect reinforcements from the forts as well. Now, do your best… at doing your worst!" He laughs and runs off.

Reflet scowls. "Alright everyone, let's do this. Chrom, Frederick, Lissa and I will go fetch Ricken and Maribelle; the rest of you stay here and deal with the nearby Plegians. Got it?"

The Shepherds call out affirmation and begin to fight. Reflet grins, pulling Chrom up the hill after him. "Nice work, Ricken!" he calls.

The young mage grins, glancing up from the Plegian he's currently fighting. "Thanks, Reflet!" he calls back. "But, hey, it was your plan that made it possible!"

Chrom stares at his tactician. "You sent him here?"

Reflet shrugs. "Basic tactics, Chrom, dear. Use all your available resources. Besides, he did well!"

The prince sighs and gives up. "If you say so."

"I do say so." The tactician glances around, eyeing Ricken's bloody side. He sidesteps a Plegian attempting to sneak up behind them, gaining a thin scratch on his cheek. Chrom quickly dismantles said Plegian. "…Thanks. Disgusting, but thanks. Everyone, fall back!"

They do so, quickly. Reflet frowns, eyeing the base team's injuries. Sully looks a bit scratched, and Lon'qu has a long gash along his left leg, but Virion is unharmed. The tactician nods. "Virion, go keep an eye on that fort." He gestures towards the one he means. "If any reinforcements poke their heads out, shoot them." The archer nods, taking off in the direction of the fort. "Lissa, Maribelle, heal any injuries; Ricken and Lon'qu first." When the two Shepherds in question attempt to argue, Reflet shoots them his 'I-am-the-tactician-you-will-obey' look. They shut up. There's a brief pause while Lissa heals their injuries.

"Oh, Frederick," Sully says suddenly, looking up from where she's talking quietly with Stahl, "one of the Plegians down here had a hand axe; think you could use it?"

"Ah," the great knight hums. "Yes, I think I could. Thank you, Sully." He accepts the axe and holds out a hand for Lissa. She takes it, swinging herself onto his horse behind him.

Reflet smiles behind his mask. "Alright, everyone; let's go!"

There's no complex strategy, this time; just an all-or-nothing sprint up the pass, killing any Plegian in their way, until they reach Captain Orton. The wyvern rider smirks. "I won't ask for your name," he calls. "Only your life!"

"Shame, that," Reflet remarks. "I'd give my name, but my life? Oh, that's off the table."

Orton snarls, tossing a throwing axe. Ricken yelps, barely scrambling back in time to avoid it. Chrom hisses, Falchion a glint of light in his hand as he stabs deep into Orton's chest. The wyvern rider grunts, falling off his mount. "This matters not," he gasps. "Soon war will be upon… your soil…" He laughs, and dies.

"Maribelle!" Lissa cries, running to join her friend. "Are you hurt?!"

"Nothing I didn't return twofold, darling," the troubadour assures her.

"I'm glad you're safe," Reflet tells her, smiling faintly.

"Who…? Oh. It's you," Maribelle sighs with faint displeasure.

The tactician chuckles. "Yes, I know you're not especially fond of me, but it's a relief just the same."

The noblewoman hums. "Oh, it's not a question of fondness," she tells him. "I am simply protective of Lissa. My treasure is very sensitive, and…" She stops. "Wait. Am I really justifying myself to a commoner? Gods…" Reflet's smile becomes rather secretive, Chrom notes from his place off to one side, as if Maribelle has told a joke only he understands.

The noblewoman coughs. "Yes, well, I do… apologise for being curt. And… And…" She sighs. "And you have my thanks for your part in the rescue. There, I said it!" She bows neatly and walks off, Lissa at her side.

Reflet turns to smile at Chrom. "I think she's warming up to me!"

* * *

 

"Forgive me, Emm," Chrom says later, bowing his head. "I acted rashly."

"It's all right, Chrom," the exalt reassures him. "Lord Gangrel is the one at fault here. You were only protecting me."

Frederick sighs. "The Mad King will be rallying his forces, if they have not mobilised already. I suggest we make haste back to Ylisstol and discuss our strategy."

"Of course, Frederick," Emmeryn agrees. "It seems war is upon us. We must protect the Ylissean people at all costs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got around to getting Heroes, only to discover that I am, apparently, RNG cursed. I just want my precious bby and my trash husband... And Soren, but he's not in the game yet.  
> By the way, I'm crossdressingdeath over on Tumblr; come yell at me about Fire Emblem and Voltron. I could use the company.


	8. Sickle to Sword

**_ Paralogue I: Sickle to Sword _ ** **_  
**The Farfort** _ **

"Reflet, why are we here?" Chrom asks, moving to stand beside his tactician. "We're supposed to be getting back to Ylisstol. Strategy meetings, impending war, remember?"

"Oh, hush, my liege," Reflet hums. "It's only a brief detour, and everyone has been working so hard lately. They've all earned a break."

"Well, true, but-"

"Halp!" a new voice interrupts. "You gots to help us! I'm beggin' you, milords!"

The two men share a glance and turn to look. A young man dressed in the rough clothes of a farmhand runs up beside them and stands there for a moment, hands on his knees, gasping. "Slow down," Chrom commands. "What happened?"

It's at that moment another man appears, this one dressed in the furs of a brigand. "Oy!" he cries. "There's the wee piglet!"

"…Great," the prince sighs. "Brigands." The farmhand ducks behind him.

"What's this?" the brigand asks. "A little lordling come to watch over his chattel? Haw haw ha-" He stops, looking closer. "Aw, damn me! Sh-Shepherds!"

"That's right," Chrom replies. "So, what'll it be? Run and live? Or fight and die?"

The bandit grunts, then turns and runs for the hills. Chrom turns to the farmhand. "Quickly, lad. What happened here?"

"Y-yes, milord!" the boy yelps. "Right away, milord! …Er, if it pleases Your Graciousness."

"Maybe just hold off on titles for now," Chrom decides. "What's your name?"

"Donny," the other replies. "Er, that is, Donnel. …Your Majestyful."

" _Donny_?" Reflet gasps, turning from where he's been eyeing the horizon. "Gods, it is you!"

"Reflet?" Donnel asks. "Whew! Can't say I was expectin' to see ya hangin' around with these lordly folks. Er, no offense."

"None taken! But- Hehe, I can't believe I forgot your village was down this way!"

Chrom coughs. "You… know him, Reflet?"

The tactician turns to smile at him, and Chrom's heart skips a beat or two. He coughs to cover the feeling. "Oh, yes! Donny pretty much saved my life. He and his mother let me stay with them for a few weeks, gave me some time to rest and recover."

"Huh," he replies. "So, Donny, what happened?"

Donny scowls. "That rotten-toothed, pig-stinkin' bandit you just ran off attacked us! Er, pardon my language, Your Lordliness. I'm the only one what got away, and even then just barely. They were roundin' up the others to haul 'em off to a bandit camp… Please, sir! You gots to save them folks! My ma's one of 'em, and… She's all I got in this world! Please, Your Royal Highness!"

"We'll help," Reflet assures him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Right, my liege?" he adds, glancing over pleadingly.

"This blasted war seems to spawn more evils by the day," Chrom sighs. "All right, Donny. We'll save your ma. Can you lead us to her?"

"Aw, thank you, milord! Thank you!" Donny replies. "Just follow me, Your Sirness!"

Donny leads them all the way to the bandits' camp. It's nightfall by the time they arrive, and Reflet motions for them to wait.

"Reflet, what-" Chrom begins.

"Shh!" the tactician hisses, lowering his hood and tilting his head to the side. "They're saying something."

"…And you're sure a'this?" one of them, the leader, assumedly, asks.

"On the grave of my sainted mother, I swear it," the other replies. It's the brigand Chrom chased off, Reflet notes, frowning. "It was Chrom and his Shepherds, and no mistake!"

The leader laughs coldly. "A fancy lord'll fetch a high ransom from noble folk," he comments. "We'll have the little man squealin' for mercy in no time!"

"We got nothin' left to take, sirs!" a woman interjects. "Please, let our children go!"

"Quit yer bleatin'!" the leader snarls.

"Oy, Roddick!" the other brigand calls. "I think this cow's the mum of the brat what ran away." His voice carries clearly to the eavesdropping Shepherds, and Donny moves to stand; Reflet holds him in place, shaking his head.

"Wait," he whispers.

"…Say, I know this one," Roddick realises. "You're the wife of the man what broke my rib last time we were 'ere!"

"And you killed him for it, monster!" the woman snaps. "I wish he'd done for you first…"

"Small wonder the brat's got more brass than brains, if you're his mum," the bandit chuckles. "Guess we'll see for ourselves when we catch him, eh? Maybe we'll even make ya watch as we gut him!" He laughs.

"N-no!" the woman begs. "Please, he's just a boy!"

Reflet sighs and turns back to the others, shaking his head. "Oh gods," he mutters, mainly to himself. "This won't be pleasant…"

"Hm?" Chrom asks. "Did you say something, Reflet?"

Donny saves him from having to respond. "This here's where they've taken up camp, Your Lordshipness," he informs them.

"Er… right." Chrom shakes himself, drawing his mind away from Reflet and back to the matter at hand. "Thanks, Donny. Stay close, now."

"Beg pardon, milord?" Donny asks. "You don't mean…? I…I can't fight, sir! I ain't never even stuck a pig before!"

"Oh, sorry," the prince mutters. "I just assumed… I mean… Look, just stay here. You'll be fine."

The farmhand glances around at the Shepherds. "I wish I was as strong as you sirs and madams!" he sighs. "Kick that scum out single handed, I would!"

"Then you should fight and grow stronger," Chrom suggests.

"But I ain't-"

"No man is born a warrior, Donny," the prince interrupts. "And farm work makes for fine training; a sickle's not far from a sword, after all. Bandits may be tougher than wheat, but the principle's the same."

Donny sniffs uncertainly. "A-all right, milord. As you say, I'm no warrior. But these're my people. I gots to do what I can!"

Chrom nods, gathering the Shepherds close. "Everyone in place?" he asks.

"R-ready!" Donny gulps.

Reflet grins. "Alright everyone, here's the plan. They've got a few archers, could be annoying, but watch their positions and keep your shields up and you should be fine. The rest of their men are mainly axe-wielders. Try to stick to swords whenever possible, got it? Other than that, should be pretty simple. Let me see… Chrom, Lissa, Frederick, Ricken, Maribelle, Miriel and Kellam, you're with me. The rest of you hold the perimeter, make sure none of them escape and keep any reinforcements they may have from getting through. Got it? Good. Let's move!"

Donny sighs. "Fight and get stronger, he says… Guess it can't hurt to try. I sure hope I don't get in the way! Gosh, that would be just awful…"

Reflet turns to smile reassuringly. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. Just stick close to me and do _exactly_ as I say, got it?"

"Got it!"

Reflet smiles. "Chrom, deal with that axeman! Donny, we'll take care of the archer a little further into the woods. As for the rest of you… Frederick, Lissa, go into that ruin on the right, Ricken, Maribelle, check the woods to the left, Miriel, Kellam, go take care of any other brigands in the area."

Chrom nods his assent, as do the others, and they scatter, racing to clear out their assigned area. The prince sighs, eyeing his own opponent; he doesn't look tough. He isn't, in fact. The fight only takes a few seconds, a slash of Falchion bringing the man to the ground. He glances up just in time to see Donny bring the archer down with a well-placed stab. Reflet grins over at him. "Nice work!" he calls. "C'mon, let's go join the others."

The others have done equally well; if there were any injuries, Lissa and Maribelle have already healed them. Reflet smiles, sword swinging out absentmindedly to slice open the throat of a thief attempting to slip past. He grabs the lance said thief drops and tosses it to Kellam. "Shall we continue, then?" he asks, gesturing at the ruins before them. Chrom shakes his head and steps forward.

The battle is easy enough; the Shepherds scatter through the ruins, sweeping over their opponents like a storm. Donny does quite well for himself, holding his own against any brigands that consider him an easier target. Before long, they find themselves standing before Roddick himself. "Time them castle whelps learned what us wild-born men can do!" he snarls.

Reflet repeats the words in a very insulting tone of voice. The surrounding Shepherds laugh. Roddick howls in rage and charges.

The tactician sidesteps gracefully and leaves the outraged brigand for Chrom to stab through the heart. Which he does. Twice. Just to be sure. "Gahaugh!" Roddick groans. "This ain't… where…"

Reflet gifts Chrom with one of his rare laughs. "Did you see the look on his face?" he asks cheerily.

"You're crazy," Chrom tells him, but he can't stop himself from smiling back.

Reflet blushes. "What tipped you off?"

Donny grins. "We did it! We're rid of them bandits for good and all!"

"A worthy first victory, Donny," the prince complements. "You fought well."

The farmhand grins, running to join his mother. "Ma! Ma, it's me!"

"Oh, Donny!" she cries, wrapping him in a hug. "Thank goodness you're safe! I was worried near to death, boy!" She turns to Chrom. "I can't thank you enough for savin' my son and our village, milord. …Donny! Where are your manners?! Take a knee and thank His Lordliness!"

Donny kneels uncertainly. "Er, I can't begin to repay all what you done for us, sir! Th-thank you!"

Chrom smiles. "You led the charge, Donny. We just picked off the stragglers. Hone your potential and use it to keep this village safe." He turns to leave.

"W-wait!" Donny calls after him. "Please!"

The prince turns back to face him. "Something wrong?"

The farmhand coughs, eyes flicking over to Reflet, who nods approvingly. "I had a request, sir. If it pleases Your Graceliness… Take me with you, milord! Lemme be a Shepherd like you! I'm good with livestock, I am! Please, sir!"

Reflet chuckles. "I just had the strangest image of you tending sheep."

Chrom elbows him in the ribs.

"Hush now, you fool boy!" Donny's mother hisses, cuffing her son's ear.

The farmhand frowns determinedly. "I want to hone my… whatever he said. I want to keep this place safe! I never thought I was good for nothin' more than shovelin' dirt… But milord showed me there's more I can do. More I needs to be doing!"

"You needs be knowin' your place, boy!" the woman snaps. "A farmhand's no fit for a royal-"

Chrom coughs. "Actually, we'd be thrilled to have him. The Shepherds need every good man we can find, and your son fought bravely. Besides," he adds, nudging Reflet's arm, "we do have a habit of picking up strays."

The Plegian scowls and elbows him, then his expression softens. "I believe I will take that as a compliment."

"Thank you."

The woman coughs to draw their attention. "Y-you're very kind to say as much, Your Lordshipness, but…" She sighs. "Well, you're a man grown now, Donny. I s'pose you can make up your own mind."

"Aw, Ma…" Donny sniffles.

His mother smiles. "You just come home safe, love. I'll see that the village is still standing when you return a hero. …Well?! Off with you, then! Glory's waitin', boy!"

"I ain't fightin' for glory, Ma," the farmhand corrects her. "I'm fightin' for you! But if I do find some glory, I'll be sure to bring it home for you!"

He turns to leave. His mother sighs. "…Just come home alive, Donny," she murmurs.

Reflet glances back at her. "I'll make sure he does, ma'am," he promises.

Chrom waits for him to catch up before beginning to walk. "They really do care about each other," he comments. "Donny and his mother, that is. I wonder what that's like…"

"I wouldn't know," Reflet replies. "My mother walked out on us when I was little; at least, that's what my father told me. I don't remember her."

"I remember my mother," Chrom tells him. "Just barely. She died when I was young, but I can remember her smiling at me…" He sighs. "Well, we both grew up reasonably well without mothers, I think."

Reflet hums noncommittally. The pair glance around for a minute, at Lissa riding with Frederick, Sully and Stahl riding close together, legs brushing, Miriel and Kellam chatting amiably, the mage's arm wrapped tightly around the knight's, Ricken walking along beside Maribelle's horse, chatting happily. Then the tactician coughs, turns, and tackle-hugs the prince briefly. "Thank you," he murmurs into his chest. Then he lets go, blushing furiously, and darts off to talk to Donny, wrapping a friendly arm around his shoulders.

Chrom just stands there for a moment. "…You're welcome…?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, I'm just wondering when Nintendo will realise they can probably turn one hell of a profit by remaking all the older games, not just Gaiden. I want remakes of the Archanea and Tellius games, dammit.


	9. The Secret Seller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I haven't died yet. I just kinda forgot that I do in fact have some semblance of a life outside of school.

****_Paralogue II: The Secret Seller  
The Twins' Turf  
_  
“…Reflet.”  
  
“Yes, my liege?”  
  
“You know what I'm going to say, don't you?”  
  
“…No, my liege.”  
  
Chrom groans. “We went straight past Ylisstol. One detour I understand, and we did get a decent recruit out of it-” here he pauses and glances back to where Donny is talking happily with Kellam, “-but _twice_? Explain. Now.”  
  
“Well, you see-” Reflet breaks off as the gates of a village come into view. “Ah, here we are. You'll understand in a minute.”  
  
“Blast…” a merchant is saying as they walk in. “It seems all hope is lost. Still, hold fast. I'll treat your wounds…”  
  
The soldier lying beside him groans. “It's t-too late…”  
  
Chrom glances at Reflet and steps forward as Lissa goes to kneel beside the soldier. “What's happened here?!”  
  
“Nothing but death ahead, travelers,” the merchant warns them. “I'd turn back if I were you… Whatever your business here, it will have to wait.”  
  
“Just tell us what happened,” the prince commands.   
  
“Bandits have blocked the road ahead,” the man informs them. “They're demanding a king's ransom in illicit tolls for all who wish to pass.”  
  
“They think to profiteer on refugees?” Chrom asks. “Despicable.”  
  
“Our caravan's livelihood is at stake,” the merchant sighs. “We'll do no business in this country now…”  
  
Frederick moves to join them. “The flow of goods must be secured, milord, or the people are likely to starve.”  
  
“Then we'll secure it,” Chrom decides. “You and your caravan can wait here. We'll let you know when it's safe.”  
  
With that, he leads the Shepherds out of the village and into the woods beyond. “Now I see why you wanted to come here,” he comments as Reflet moves to join him. “But how did you know…?”  
  
The Plegian shrugs helplessly. “I don't know. I just felt as though… we had to get here, if that makes sense. Like lives were on the line. I… I really have no clue how I knew.” A faintly defensive tone creeps into his voice, and Chrom rests a hand on his shoulder.   
  
“Well, however you knew… I'm just glad you did. Now we can help them, right? That's all that matters.”  
  
Reflet smiles, pulling his hood up to keep the snow from his eyes. “Alright, then. Lissa, Frederick, Ricken, Maribelle, Miriel, Kellam, Sumia and Vaike, you're with Chrom and I! The rest of you-”  
  
“Perimeter?” Sully asks. “Got it. Can we go?” It's not meant rudely, so Reflet just nods. The perimeter guards take off.   
  
Reflet moves to begin speaking, then falls silent, pulling his hood back and tilting his head, gesturing for silence.   
  
“Vincent, darling?” a voice is saying.   
  
“Yes, Victor?” a second voice, presumably Vincent, replies.   
  
“I daresay we've come across a village, Vincent.”  
  
“And what a thriving little hamlet it is, Victor!”  
  
“Indeed. I think it'll make for a fine bit of pillaging, Vincent.”  
  
“It most certainly will, Victor.”  
  
“Well, then. I believe it's my turn to do the honours, isn't it, Vincent?”  
  
“I do believe it is, Victor! Oh, but do try not to kill them _all_ this time, hmm? It tends to cut into profits.”  
  
With that, Vincent turns around and leaves. Chrom moves to start forward, but Reflet grabs his arm. “Patience, my friend,” he murmurs. “Look.”  
  
“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this village is closed,” a redheaded young woman calls cheerily from the gates of the village in question.   
  
“Well, aren't you a fetching young thing?” Victor chuckles. “And fetching young things fetch good coin. In fact, the gold you net from the slavers will build Vincent a fine home!”  
  
“Careful, love,” the woman warns. “Us traders are known to make some very deep cuts.”  
  
Frederick hisses. “That village is in danger. One of us must ride ahead and warn them of what's coming.”  
  
“Agreed,” Reflet replies. “Sumia, can you give me a ride over there? You're the fastest out of all of us.”  
  
“Alright,” the pegasus knight agrees.   
  
The tactician grins. “Ricken, Maribelle, clear out this side of the river. The rest of you follow Sumia and I, fast as you can.” He strokes the pegasus' nose before climbing up behind her rider. “Sumia?”  
  
“Right!” She takes off, and Chrom watches until Reflet dismounts near the village. Then he shakes his head and takes off into the fray.   
  
It's an easy enough battle, though Chrom's distracted, worrying about his tactician—and Sumia, of course—and gains a few cuts and scrapes. Idiot wounds, as Sully once called them. He's suddenly glad she's on perimeter, where she can't see him.   
  
Eventually, Reflet and Sumia return, the former tossing Lissa a Physic staff that was apparently a gift from the village elder.   
  
“You alright?” Chrom asks hesitantly, eyeing his friend.   
  
“Fine,” Reflet assures him. “The merchant woman healed us both before we left.”  
  
“…Which implies you were hurt.”  
  
“Yes, well, I'm fine now, so stop worrying so-”  
  
He's cut off by a short axe burying itself in his side, and he yelps in pain, falling to his knees. “Chrom-”  
  
“Lissa!” the prince calls, standing defensively in front of his tactician. He tries to ignore the panic welling up in him at the pain in the other's voice.   
  
“Give up now!” the brigand commands. “I was born a Victor, and victory will be mine!”  
  
He throws another axe, but Falchion swings up and knocks it harmlessly to the side. Chrom moves fast, his blade cutting long wounds in Victor's skin until he seems to be more blood than man. The prince steps forward and knocks the short axe from his hand. “No one _ever_ hurts Reflet,” he whispers, quiet enough that only the brigand can hear.   
  
Then he stabs down.   
  
“I…” Victor murmurs weakly. “I see an open field, Vincent… Such beautiful flowers…” With that said, he dies.   
  
“Wow,” Reflet comments. He sounds rather breathless, but Lissa has already healed the wound, so Chrom lets himself relax. “That was very impressive, my liege. Well done.”  
  
“No thanks to you,” the prince teases halfheartedly.   
  
“Yes, well, bleeding out does have an unfortunate tendency to lower one's usefulness. You didn't know that?”  
  
“A thousand thanks, good sir,” the merchant from earlier interjects, stepping carefully around the bodies. “I'd feared our goods would spoil before reaching market. I'm certain the townsfolk will be happier for the fresh food as well.”  
  
“It seems you've done a kindness to my fellow merchants,” the redhead who'd been guarding the village adds, stepping up to join them. “The name's Anna. Some folks like to call me the Secret Seller.” She winks. “Next time we meet, I'll be sure to cut you an extra-special deal.”  
  
“…Secret Seller?” Chrom asks. “That sounds… familiar.”  
  
Anna laughs. “I'd tell you more, but then it wouldn't be much of a secret, now would it? Until next time, happy shopping, and may the gods of the open road keep you!” With that, she waves and trots off after the other merchant.   
  
Chrom turns to Reflet. “I'm… glad you're alright.” He hopes that conveys all the words he doesn't know how to say.   
  
Reflet smiles. “And I'm glad you are,” he replies gently, resting a light hand on the prince's shoulder. Then he turns to begin the long walk back to Ylisstol. “After all,” he calls over his shoulder, “whatever would I do without you, my liege?”  
  
Chrom chuckles, following along and wrapping an arm around the younger man's shoulders. “Let's hope we never have to find out.”


	10. Foreseer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow it's been forever. I am so sorry.

**_Chapter VI: Foreseer_** ** _  
Ylisstol_**  
  
Chrom sighs, running a hand through his hair. He's tired, he realises, especially after all the nonsense Reflet put them through on the way back to Ylisstol. He's glad they helped people, but even so…  
  
“My liege?” Reflet asks, appearing at his side. “What are you doing out so late?”  
  
Chrom jumps. “What- Oh, hi, Reflet. Just… dueling with some unpleasant thoughts…” He feels himself flushing as the tactician raises a disbelieving eyebrow. He coughs, trying to force the heat from his cheeks. “Tomorrow we leave again; we march to Regna Ferox to request additional soldiers. But… there's something I want to talk to you about first.”  
  
“Is this about what Gangrel said?” Reflet asks knowingly.   
  
“Well, yes.” Chrom runs a hand through his hair. “My father waged war on Plegia for many years. The violence… It was a brutal campaign, ending only with his death last year.”  
  
“Chrom, I know all this. I lived in Plegia at the time, remember?” There's no judgement in the Plegian's eyes, just warm concern.   
  
The prince sighs. “I know, I know. It's just… Plegia rightfully remembers their suffering, but his war was no kinder to his own people. As the fighting dragged on, our army became more and more diminished. Farmers who could barely wield a pitchfork were conscripted and sent to their deaths. Soon there was no food at all, and the kingdom began to collapse.” He sighs. “I remember those dark times. …I know how they affected Emmeryn.”  
  
“Such an experience would change anyone,” Reflet murmurs understandingly. “Gods… I was so focused on my own people's suffering, I never imagined how hard it must have been for yours…”  
  
Chrom nods. “Indeed. When our father died, he left her quite the legacy… Plegia's desire for vengeance… Our own people's unbridled rage… My sister became a target for blame from all sides. Her own subjects began to hurl insults- and stones. She still bears the scar from one…” He shakes his head. “But she never let them see her pain. Only Lissa and I understood.”  
  
“It must have been so hard…” the tactician whispers, almost to himself.   
  
“I cannot claim to know how she does it, Reflet,” Chrom sighs. “I could never greet such hostility with warmth and patience. While our people mocked and vilified her, she reached out and healed them. She brought soldiers home to their families. She ended the war. And when Ylisse's spirit was mended and the people ‘forgave’ her? …She never resented them for it. She represents the best of the halidom; the part most worth protecting. She _is_ peace. But some men would take advantage of that. Men like Gangrel. The day he understands peace will be the day death gives it to him. …So perhaps I must be death's agent. Emmeryn would never order him killed, nor would I wish her to.”  
  
“No…” Reflet whispers. He bites his lip. “I'm sorry,” he murmurs. “I- I blamed your sister too; the war, I thought- I don't know what I thought, but-”  
  
Chrom hesitantly reaches out and wraps his arms around the younger man's shoulders. “Hey,” he says. “It's not your fault. In Plegia, I'm sure it did look like it was her fault; you don't need to apologise for following the views of your people.”  
  
“I- Well, maybe so, but still, I- I should've thought through all the possibilities, I should've considered-” He cuts himself off, hands rising to tangle in Chrom's shirt.   
  
“It's not your fault,” the prince repeats. “All you did was side with your people; loyalty is hardly a crime.”  
  
“Well spoken, sir,” comes a familiar voice. The two men jump apart, blushing furiously.   
  
“Marth…” Chrom sighs.   
  
The young man steps into view, one hand resting on his hip. “Good evening to you,” he says calmly.   
  
“How did you get in here?” the prince asks, ignoring pleasantries in favour of getting down to business.   
  
Marth shrugs. “That cleft in the castle wall, behind the maple grove.”  
  
“There? But how would you…?” Chrom groans, running a hand through his hair.   
  
“You know the place, Chrom?” Reflet asks, apparently having gotten over his embarrassment.   
  
“Yes,” the prince admits. “I bashed in part of the wall while training the Shepherds. It's only a small hole, and I'd thought it well concealed, but…”  
  
Marth smiles reassuringly. “Your secret is safe with me. I come here only to warn you.”  
  
“Warn us?” Chrom asks.   
  
The swordsman nods. “The exalt's life is in danger.”  
  
“What, Emmeryn?” the lord asks dismissively. “That's absurd. She's guarded at all hours.”  
  
The other hesitates. “What if… What if I told you I have seen the future? Would you believe me? A future where Emmeryn is killed. Here. Tonight.”  
  
“Seen the future?” Chrom scoffs. “Have you lost your-”  
  
“Chrom,” Reflet murmurs warningly, resting a hand on his arm. “Go on,” he adds, nodding to Marth.   
  
“Yes, I expected you wouldn't believe me,” the swordsman sighs. “So allow me to prove it!”  
  
He draws his sword from its sheath. The two older men tense, reaching for their own weapons.   
  
“I'm about to save your life,” Marth informs the prince, glancing at the bushes beside him. “From him.”  
  
It's at that moment that an assassin leaps from the bushes. Marth is already prepared. He tosses his sword into the air and jumps after it, his legs carrying him gracefully above the assassin's swing. He catches his sword in midair and slashes the man’s side. As the assassin falls, he turns back to the other two. “I trust this proof will suffice?” he asks calmly.   
  
Chrom nods slowly. “Yeah.”  
  
A second assassin leaps from the tree behind the swordsman. Marth moves to counter his strike, but fails to check the surrounding area; he trips on the first assassin's sword, and the man's attack cuts neatly through his mask.   
  
Or _her_ mask.   
  
As the mask breaks apart, long blue hair falls loose around her face. Chrom leaps forward, striking the man down before turning and hissing in surprise. “Wait, you're- you're a woman?”  
  
She smiles, turning to face him. “And quite the actress, too. Honestly I'm surprised you didn't figure it out until just now.”  
  
“I knew,” Reflet volunteers. Two sets of eyes turn towards him and he blushes. “…Figured I'm hardly one to be outing people's secrets.”  
  
Just then, there's a rumbling boom. The three warriors glance at each other, then sprint into the castle.   
  
“Captain!” Sumia calls as they enter the halls surrounding Emmeryn's quarters. “What do we do?”  
  
Chrom turns wordlessly to Reflet. The tactician nods several times. “Chrom, Lissa, Frederick, Ricken, Maribelle, Miriel, Kellam, Sumia, Lon'qu, you're with me. We'll deal with any enemies who've made it this far. The rest of you-”  
  
“Perimeter,” several Shepherds chorus.   
  
“Good. You know me so well. Go!”  
  
“Remember,” the assassins' leader is saying when Reflet focuses on her, “I want the Emblem in my hand and Emmeryn dead on the floor. Let nothing distract you from either purpose.” His heart sinks; it's Aversa, which means he only has two options. Kill her, or-  
  
“As you will it,” one of the assassins agrees.   
  
“Whoa, whoa, did I just hear that right?” one of the nearby thieves asks of no one in particular. “We're to _kill_ the exalt? I'm just here for the plunder. You know, line my pockets with some royal goods. The exalt's such a sweet lady… Sure, I'll rob her blind, but I'd never harm her!” The voice is strangely familiar, and Reflet frowns, trying to recall where he's heard it before.   
  
“Emm!” Chrom yells, startling the tactician from his thoughts.   
  
“Chrom!” Emmeryn calls back. “Take Lissa and flee while you still have time!”  
  
“No! We're not leaving you! Just stay where it's safe!”  
  
Reflet sighs. “The assassins should scatter if we can defeat Aversa,” he murmurs unwillingly.    
  
The Plegian woman sighs as well. “Two assassins and the little princeling was not even wounded?” she asks herself. “…Wait. Some of these actors do not belong on this stage…” Even though they can't see each other, Reflet knows she's aware of his presence. “Well, well, well. Here we are again… Tonight, fate truly piles the gifts at my feet!”  
  
Marth hisses in shock. “Falchion is gleaming…” she murmurs.   
  
“What's wrong?” Chrom asks.   
  
“It's not your concern,” she replies.   
  
“Seems like nothing ever is with you.”  
  
“My apologies,” the young woman sighs, bowing her head.   
  
“Just stay by Emmeryn's door,” the prince tells her. “We'll handle the killers.”  
  
“Chrom, please!” Emmeryn implores him. “Flee while you still can! You each have but one life, and I do not wish it weighed against mine!”  
  
No one answers her. Reflet frowns in concentration. “Chrom, go with Frederick. There's a thief just around the corner you can probably convince to surrender. Lissa, you're with me. We'll be going with them in case something goes wrong. The rest of you, stick close to Marth, help her keep the assassins away from Emmeryn's room. Our top priority is keeping the exalt safe, but be careful; I don’t want any casualties here.”  
  
They all nod their assent. The assassins aren't really prepared for a real fight, and fall easily; before Chrom even reaches the thief, however, Reflet senses movement from behind.   
  
“I knew there was wisdom in slipping in with those rogues,” a female voice sighs. “Look how these man-spawn claw at each other like savages! I will repay my warren's debt and then wash my hands of their race.”  
  
“Another assassin?” Chrom asks uncertainly.   
  
“Hold!” Marth calls. “Panne is not your enemy.”  
  
“You know her?”  
  
“I know… of her,” the woman replies carefully. “And I knew she would come here tonight.”  
  
“Quite the prophet, aren't you?” Chrom asks irritably.   
  
“As you say,” Marth agrees. “And I swear to you, Panne is an ally.”  
  
“…Good enough for me,” the prince decides. “All right, Shepherds! For now we leave this Panne character be.”  
  
“Is that wise, milord?” Frederick asks.   
  
“Marth has earned our trust,” Chrom tells him. “She enjoys her secrets, I know. …Like her gender, for one. But she's also saved our lives. Twice. And that's enough for me.”  
  
“Chrom…” the young woman murmurs. “Thank you.”  
  
“Now,” Chrom continues, “to the matter at hand: driving these scoundrels from our castle!”  
  
Reflet nods. “Er, Panne? If you don't mind, would you kindly go help the others by the door? I'm sure they're fine, but any support you could offer them is greatly appreciated.”  
  
The woman nods. “Very well.” She moves to join the others. Chrom smiles, turning his attention towards the thief Reflet pointed out.   
  
He glares at the redhead. “Drop your weapon, or die where you stand!”  
  
“Easy there, blue blood,” the other replies. “I'm not here to hurt anyone.”  
  
“…Yet you run with a band of assassins?” Chrom asks disbelievingly.   
  
The thief shrugs. “Believe it or not, just trying to make a living. I'm a thief, see? Bust open doors, crack into chests… that kind of thing. This lot said they wanted to break into some type of vault. Nobody said anything about murder. I'd just as soon sit this one out.”  
  
Chrom considers this for a moment. “Then perhaps you'd be willing to prove your good intentions?”  
  
“Beg pardon?” the other asks.   
  
The prince shrugs. “We need all the help we can get to save the exalt's life. You appear capable, and we could use any information you have about our foes.”  
  
“Oh, right,” the thief realises, “those good intentions. Fine then, I'll prove my sincerity… if you sweeten the deal.”  
  
“You want gold?” Chrom asks. “…Fine, you scoundrel.” He digs around in his pockets. “Let me just- oops.”  
  
A bag falls from his pocket and lands with a thud. The thief eyes it curiously. “Looks like you dropped something. What's in the satchel, mmm?”  
  
“Nothing,” Chrom tells him, “candies from my little sister. I'm sure you-”  
  
“‘Candies’?” the other asks. “As in, sugar candies?”  
  
“Well… yes, I assume they'd be sweet?” Chrom replies. “But-”  
  
“It's a deal!” the thief yelps.   
  
The prince considers this. “…You'll risk your life for us if I give you… a bag of candy?”  
  
The redhead shrugs. “I said ‘sweeten the deal,’ didn't I? Don't get me wrong, I'll take the gold too. Later. Unless you've got more of these,” he adds. “…Have you got more of these?!”  
  
Chrom blinks. “Um… I'll ask Lissa.”  
  
“Oh, now I remember!” Reflet exclaims. He grins wickedly. “Hello, Gaius!”  
  
“Bubbles?” Gaius asks. “Damn, you look good! Obviously life's been treating you well.”  
  
“And you're still a scrawny thief,” Reflet teases.   
  
“Bubbles?” Chrom asks.   
  
“Hey, I'm more muscular than you are!”  
  
“Just because I'm not a muscle-bound freak-”  
  
“… _Bubbles_?”  
  
The tactician scowls at the thief. “Now look what you've done,” he scolds. “You broke him!”  
  
Gaius just shrugs.   
  
Chrom shakes himself. “Alright, then,” he manages. “Gaius, um… Go help the others. Reflet, with me.”  
  
The other two nod; Reflet moves to lean against the wall as they wait for the next few assassins to appear.   
  
“…Bubbles?” Chrom asks.   
  
“Oh, shut up,” his tactician mutters.   
  
The assassins aren't that tough to fight off. All it takes is a couple sword swings and they're crumbling to the floor. And then Aversa appears.   
  
“Chrom, wait!” Reflet hisses. The prince ignores him, leaping towards the dark flier. Aversa merely chuckles, aiming a spell.   
  
_Clang!_  
  
Falchion clashes against one of Reflet's swords, the other knocking Aversa's spell harmlessly into the wall. “Stop it, both of you!” the tactician snaps.   
  
Chrom frowns, lowering Falchion uneasily. “Reflet, what-?”  
  
But the younger man ignores him, turning to Aversa. “Sister, please?”  
  
“Sister?!”  
  
Aversa sighs, replacing her tome in whatever pocket she drew it from. “Oh, very well. Since it's you.”  
  
Chrom coughs, drawing their attention. “Sister?!” he asks again.   
  
Reflet flushes. “Oh, did I not mention that bit?”  
  
“Aw,” Aversa hums, “are you ashamed to be related to me?”  
  
“No!” He glances at Chrom. “Well, maybe? I don't even know anymore!” He sighs.   
  
“Milord?” Frederick asks. “What's going on here?”  
  
The prince shakes his head. “I have absolutely no idea. Reflet? Can we trust her?”  
  
The two Plegians talk quietly for a few seconds in their own language. “…Yes,” Reflet decides eventually. “We can.”  
  
Chrom nods. “That's enough for me. I wish I could say it's nice to see you, Lady Aversa, but…”  
  
“Oh, that's fine,” the woman assures him. “Really, all I care about is baby brother, here.”  
  
“I'm not that much younger than you!” Reflet pouts.   
  
It's then that Emmeryn steps forward to join them, Phila at her side. Aversa and Frederick step back, arguing quietly. Chrom sighs. “Thank the gods you're safe!”  
  
The exalt smiles. “It is you I have to thank, Chrom.”  
  
Phila bows deeply. “I beg your forgiveness, milord! I failed in my duty; they should have never made it into the castle in the first place.”  
  
“Peace, Phila,” the prince assures her. “You couldn't have known what was coming. Only Marth could…”  
  
“…Marth?” Emmeryn asks.   
  
Chrom glances around. “Yes, I would speak more with… Um… Reflet, where's Marth?”  
  
“Hmm…” the tactician muses. “An excellent question. She was here a moment ago…”  
  
“…Not again!” the lord sighs. He runs off to find the young woman.   
  
She's in one of the courtyards when he finds her. He steps out to speak. “Going somewhere?” he asks. “You have a bad habit of leaving without saying goodbye, you know.”  
  
Marth sighs. “Yes, I'm afraid I have a few bad habits.”  
  
“Good ones as well,” Chrom reminds her. “You saved my life, as well as my sister's, and Reflet's. Is there a way I can repay you? Some favour I can grant?”  
  
She chuckles. “Hearing you offer is reward enough.”  
  
“But there must be something…” he begins.   
  
Marth shakes her head. “I already have what I came for: history has been rewritten.”  
  
“And what future averted?” Chrom asks cautiously.   
  
Marth lowers her head. “After the exalt's untimely assassination, the Fire Emblem would be stolen. This, in turn, would lead to a great war, and soon to the end of mankind itself. …But I'm sure that sounds like madness to you,” she adds.   
  
“…Strangely, no,” he tells her. “It doesn't. Somehow I know I can trust you. And I hope someday to repay your favours.”  
  
The young woman smiles. “Perhaps one day you shall. Until then…” She nods in farewell, and then leaves.   
  
Chrom frowns after her for a moment before turning to go back inside.   
  
Meanwhile, Panne stands before Emmeryn, Reflet and Phila at her side. “Brave taguel, there are not words to express my gratitude,” the exalt begins earnestly.   
  
“So you know our true name?” the other woman asks.   
  
“You're a taguel, then?” Reflet asks knowingly. “I knew you were a shapeshifter, but I didn't know what kind.”  
  
Panne nods. “I am a taguel. The… The last taguel. Most of your kind called us ‘beast’ or ‘coney' in the midst of their hunt. I only helped you because my warren owes Ylisse a debt. Do not think us friends, you and I!”  
  
The tactician frowns. “I don't think I quite understand…”  
  
The taguel snorts. “Yes, it's precious little your kind seem to understand. It was man-spawn like you that invaded our warren and slaughtered my people.”  
  
“What?!” Emmeryn gasps. “Is this true? Who would do such a thing?”  
  
Panne sighs. “Ha! Do not act so shocked. You are all the same. Right down to your base desire to ruin and destroy all you touch; even each other.”  
  
“…There is truth to your words, perhaps,” the exalt admits. “I'm told that, in taguel society, everyone is treated as an equal. Mankind could have learned much from your warren. The words may come too late and mean too little, but I am deeply sorry. We have stolen your friends and family and made the world a lesser place.”  
  
“Your Grace,” Phila interjects, “you had no fault in this!”  
  
Panne snorts. “You claim to be blameless, and yet you would apologise? Pah! Your words are but wind.”  
  
“I know…” Emmeryn sighs. “But they are all I have.”  
  
“…You seem sincere, man-spawn,” the taguel admits. “You feel my pain as your own. …I've never felt that before. Look at me. …See what I am. I will never trust mankind. But you… Perhaps you truly are not like the others.”  
  
The exalt smiles. “All I ask is a chance to earn your trust.”  
  
Reflet winces, a sharp pain running through his head. Emmeryn turns to look at him. “Reflet? Are you alright?”  
  
“Ah… Yes, Your Grace,” he manages. “If you'd excuse me, for a minute?”  
  
“Of course,” she allows, her concerned gaze following him around the corner.   
  
Once he's certain he's out of sight, Reflet closes his eyes and allows his mind to take him where it will.   
  
_Validar stands in a realm of darkness. He growls. “How?! How could she betray me for him?! Kin or no, our purpose is too significant to be abandoned here!”  
  
Footsteps sound, and a figure cloaked in darkness steps forth. “Validar,” he begins. It's just one word, but Reflet can feel an aura of malevolence flowing off it in waves.   
  
“What?” Validar snaps. “Who are you… Where did you come from?”  
  
The man chuckles lowly. “I am the power that compels you,” he explains simply. “You no longer require Aversa's aid. It is not written. You must go on to author a destiny greater than you know.”  
  
“I-impossible!” the Plegian hisses. “It can't be you! It can't be…”  
  
The man laughs cruelly. “I am the wings of despair. I am the breath of ruin.” There's a long pause, and then: “I am the fell dragon, Grima…”  
_  
Reflet's eyes snap open. “No…” he whispers. “Oh gods, no…”  
  
He runs to return to the others and warn them, only to pause just out of sight. _‘They'll want to know how I know this… and I can't tell them. Not yet. I'm… sure it'll be fine…’_ He's not convinced, but he settles down to listen to their conversation.   
  
“It will take time to investigate how the assassination plot got so far,” Phila is saying. “We have no leads at present.”  
  
“It was Gangrel!” Chrom snaps. “I'm sure of it. He'd do anything for the Emblem. Emm, you can't stay here. Come to Ferox where it's safe.”  
  
Emmeryn shakes her head. “And leave the people undefeated? War is at our borders, Chrom. Do you expect Ylisse to stand against Gangrel without a leader? They must know their exalt stands with them.”  
  
“But if something happens to you?” the prince asks. “What then?”  
  
“Your Grace, perhaps you might relocate to the eastern palace for the time being?” Frederick suggests. “The other kingdoms know nothing of it. You would be safer.”  
  
“Yes, please,” Chrom agrees. “At least that. I can't leave for Ferox with you right in harm's way.”  
  
Emmeryn sighs. “Very well.”  
  
“Thanks, Emm,” the lord sighs. “I mean it. We'll escort you to the palace before we head north to the border.”  
  
“Of course,” the exalt accepts. “But for tonight… let the Shepherds celebrate. They've done well.”  
  
…  
  
Later that night, Chrom finds himself thinking, about what they're doing and where they're going. And above all else, he's thinking about Reflet; strange, loyal Reflet, his past a mystery and his sister a noble in King Validar's court. Frederick, he knows, still doesn't trust the Plegian, not really, not truly, but that doesn't matter-  
  
Because Reflet is his friend. And Chrom knows with every fibre of his being that he can be trusted.   
  
“My liege?” the young man in question asks, settling down beside the prince. “Are you ‘dueling with unpleasant thoughts’ again?”  
  
“Reflet…” Chrom acknowledges. “No, not really. Just thinking.”  
  
“About?”  
  
He shrugs. “Nothing in particular.” _You_ is what he wants to say, but he doesn't know what the response will be.   
  
“Alright.” Reflet sighs, shifting to bring his legs up beside him on the sofa they're seated on. “I spoke to Emmeryn and my sister,” he comments. “She says as long as you agree, Aversa is free to do as she likes, considering she didn't actually kill anyone, and I vouched for her.”  
  
Chrom glances over. “You vouched for her? Are you sure that's a good idea?”  
  
The tactician shrugs helplessly, absently tugging his hood up to shade his face. “No… But she's my sister. If I don't stick up for her, nobody will.” He glances over at the older man. “…I was thinking she could join the Shepherds.”  
  
“What?!” the prince snaps. “Sister or no, you seem to forget she came here to _kill_ Emmeryn!”  
  
“She came here looking for me!” Reflet fires back sharply. “Chrom, she came here because she was worried about me, and it was her best chance!” He scowls irritably. “I'm not just going to send her on her way!”  
  
“Well, then maybe you should-” He cuts himself off, glancing around the room. The Shepherds are all staring at them, attention drawn by the raised voices. “Reflet, can we talk _privately_?”  
  
“Fine,” the Plegian hisses, annoyance crackling through his voice like sparks about to start a fire.   
  
The pair of them stalk through the darkened halls of the castle, not speaking to each other or anyone else, until they arrive in Chrom's room. By some unspoken agreement, Chrom flops down in his desk chair, spinning it around to face the bed, while Reflet perches delicately on the edge of said bed like a bird about to take flight.   
  
“Talk,” Chrom commands.   
  
“You're not giving her a chance,” Reflet informs him. “You allowed Panne to join the Shepherds based on Marth's recommendation; hell, you allowed Gaius to join because I told you to! What's so different about Aversa?”  
  
“She worked for Validar, and Gangrel!” the prince snaps.   
  
“So did I!” the tactician fires back. “If that's your reason then I should leave, too!” His hands curl into shaking fists, lips pressed together in a thin line. “You never judged anyone based on past employers before; why should that change now?” He shakes his head. “Dammit, Chrom, she's my _sister_! What would you do?!”  
  
Chrom knows that were he in Reflet's position he would fight tooth and nail to help his sisters, but- “That's not the point, Reflet! She's an _assassin_! She tried to kill Emm! I can't trust her!”  
  
“Then trust _me_!” the younger man begs. “I know we can trust her, you just need to let her prove it!” He leans forward, something intense flashing across his face that makes Chrom flush and look away. “Please, Chrom. Please. Just… trust that I know what I'm doing one more time. If I'm wrong, I'll accept any punishment you like; just give her a chance.” The anger has faded from his voice now, leaving just a raw desperation to get Chrom's approval, to have his sister be part of the Shepherds.   
  
Chrom sighs. “How is it you always know exactly how to get me to agree?” he asks. “I do trust you, Reflet. In fact, I think I trust you more than anyone else I've ever known. If you're certain Aversa can be trusted… I see no reason to disagree.”  
  
Reflet lets out a clearly audible sigh of relief, launching himself off the bed to press himself against Chrom's chest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whispers under his breath in a steady stream.   
  
“Any time,” Chrom murmurs back, absently running a hand through his friend's hair.   
  
Reflet pulls away after a moment. “…Chrom?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
The tactician frowns at him. “You’re blushing.”

“Am I?” He is, isn’t he. “Well, uh, it’s- pretty hot in here, isn’t it? That’s probably it.”

“It’s… really not.” Reflet’s lips twitch, like he’s fighting back a laugh. “Actually, if anything it’s a little cold.”

“Oh, w-well, uh… maybe that’s it, then.”

Reflet is _definitely_ struggling not to laugh now. “Is there… something you’re trying to hide, _my liege_?”   
  
Chrom tenses. “H-hide? You mean, _hide_ hide? Oh, gosh, no! N-nothing at all… Nope.”  
  
Reflet raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Well, if you're telling the truth, then why are you fidgeting like you've got a squirrel in your pantaloons?”  
  
Chrom flushes. “I-I'm not fidgeting! I'm perfectly relaxed.” It's at this moment he notices how far from relaxed he must appear. “…And, er, normal.” He looks away.   
  
“And refusing to meet my eye?” Reflet asks. He stands, walking across the room and settling on top of Chrom's desk. “Listen, Chrom. Haven't you always said that we're close friends, with no secrets between us? Didn't you mean that?”  
  
It takes a moment for Chrom to consider his answer. Sadly, he doesn't stay quiet while he does. “N-no! I mean, yes! I mean… I swear, it's not like that!”  
  
Reflet sighs. “As I said, I've noticed that you've been avoiding me recently. And I'd like to know why, Chrom. I think I deserve an explanation. Please. I can't go on pretending there's nothing wrong.” He hesitates. “…Do you… dislike my company now?”  
  
Chrom shakes his head quickly. “D-dislike you?! Egads, Reflet, of course I don't dislike you! Nothing could be further from the truth.”  
  
“Then why are you avoiding me?” his tactician asks sadly.   
  
The prince hesitates. “Er…”  
  
“Chrom?”  
  
“D-don't look at me like that…” Chrom begs. “It's just that… we've been fighting a lot together. We're always side by side. At first, I thought of you as an ally, then a comrade, and finally a friend. I've felt the bonds of trust grow between us, stronger and stronger. And then I realised… you were more than just a friend.”  
  
“…What do you mean?” Reflet asks cautiously.   
  
“I mean I care about you, Reflet,” Chrom says, exasperated. “And you're no fool, so don't pretend you don't know what I mean.”  
  
Reflet blushes furiously. “Chrom, we can't possibly-”  
  
“Wait, please!” the prince yelps. “You've made me come this far, and now I'm going to say my piece.”  
  
“…But when you're worked up like this, you might say something you regret,” the other warns.   
  
“I don't care!” Chrom snaps. “I've tried to keep this bottled up, and I can't do it anymore. I'm going to tell you how I feel, even if your head explodes in embarrassment.” Which is starting to look like a real possibility; Reflet's cheeks are bright red.   
  
“O-kay?”  
  
Chrom closes his eyes. “All right, deep breath… FHOOOOO! …Hold… and out… HAAAAAAH. Once more… FHOOOOOO! Holding… holding… and out… HAAAAAAAAH. Right, I'm set now. Here goes. Prepare yourself, because I'm going to say it!”  
  
“…Then say it already!” Reflet snaps, irritation and vague amusement colouring his voice.   
  
Chrom coughs. “Reflet… I'm in love with you.” Just saying the words makes him feel lighter.   
  
The tactician opens his mouth. Then closes it again. “…Oh.”  
  
The prince smiles hesitantly. “I have been from the very first moment I laid eyes on you. I just didn't realise it until the last little while.”  
  
Reflet doesn't speak. Chrom sighs. “Look, I know this is sudden and I'm coming onto you like a wyvern on heat. But I'm not trying to force you into a decision, believe me. Whatever your answer, I shall abide by it—no matter how painful. And come what may, we'll always be friends. That I promise.”  
  
Reflet stares at his feet. “This is… I'm sorry, Chrom, but this is impossible. The general and his chief tactician? It just… It wouldn't be right. To say nothing of the fact that we're both men… It doesn't seem like Lady Emmeryn has any intention of marrying, and you'll be expected to carry on the royal line…” He trails off and falls silent for a long moment. “Our first responsibility must be to the soldiers we lead and the kingdom we protect, not to each other. You understand that, don't you?”  
  
Chrom nods sadly. “Yes, I do.”  
  
Reflet smiles, then. “But someday this war will end. We'll emerge victorious and bring peace back to the world. And when that happens…” He hesitates for a moment. “…When that happens, perhaps we can find a way to follow our hearts.”  
  
Chrom stares at him, hope stirring. “… _Our_ hearts?”  
  
Reflet smiles shyly. “Yes… because… I love you as well.”  
  
“You do?” Chrom asks. The other nods silently. “But that's… but that's… wonderful!” He laughs. “This is the best day of my life! I could kiss you!” He freezes. “…I could.”  
  
Reflet laughs softly, leaning forward and pecking him on the cheek. “What's stopping you?”  
  
So Chrom kisses him until they're both gasping for air. Reflet purrs, shifting himself just slightly forward. “And, Chrom?”  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“Whatever happens… the mask stays on.”  
  
…  
  
Later, Reflet hums sleepily, curling up beside the prince with the blankets pulled up just high enough to preserve decency. “That was good,” he admits quietly.   
  
“Just good?” Chrom asks with feigned anger. “See if I ever- Ah, you know…”  
  
“Have sex with me again?” Once again, the prince is taken aback by his friend's forthrightness. “Oh, don't be so prudish. We're both lying in your bed. And we are naked.”  
  
Chrom chuckles. “Yes, I suppose…” He shifts slightly, allowing his arm to drape across Reflet's hips. “I'm still not entirely sure how we got this far, to be honest,” he admits.   
  
Reflet just shrugs. “All I know is that I've been in love with you pretty much since we met. I'm just glad you finally figured it out.”   
  
The prince thinks it over. “As I said, I've been in love with you since we met, too; I just didn't realise it until just now.”  
  
His tactician laughs lightly. “It was a good day. You saved my life, remember?”  
  
“And you saved mine,” Chrom recalls. “And the Shepherds got a wonderful new tactician out of it.”  
  
“Careful, my liege, you're going to make me think you only want me for my skills.”  
  
They both laugh at that, and Reflet nuzzles into Chrom's chest. “Mm… Love you,” he murmurs, half asleep.   
  
“Love you too,” Chrom whispers back, absently running fingers through messy white hair and tracing the outlines of his mask. Reflet purrs like a cat and curls up a little more.   
  
“Goodnight,” he mutters. Just like that, he drifts off to sleep.   
  
Chrom stays awake a while longer, stroking the younger man's hair as he thinks. “Listen to me, Reflet…” he says eventually, careful not to wake him. “You are the wind at my back and the sword at my side. Together, my love, we will build a peaceful world… Just you and me.”  
  
With his face hidden from Chrom's sight, Reflet smiles at the words.   



	11. Incursion

**_Chapter VII: Incursion_** ** _  
Breakneck Pass  
_**  
“Ugh, my poor feet,” Lissa complains as they walk. “I've got blisters the size of eggs!”  
  
“Oh, it's not so bad, Lissa,” Chrom replies. “Just a healthy little stroll! How are you holding up, Reflet?”  
  
The Plegian shoots him a Look. “My legs feel like pudding…” he mutters. “Your endurance _astounds_ me, my liege.” It's probably a coincidence, but something in his voice makes the offhand comment seem incredibly suggestive.   
  
Chrom coughs, flushing. Then he chuckles. “Should I carry you?”  
  
“Oh, yes, please.”  
  
“You can carry me!” Lissa offers. The older Shepherds laugh. “…No, seriously. I would really be okay with you carrying me.”  
  
“Get Frederick to carry you,” Reflet suggests innocently, a wicked smirk crossing his face when the other two sputter incoherently.   
  
“Hmm…” the man behind them mutters, looking around nervously.   
  
“Is something troubling you, Hierarch?” Frederick asks. “You keep glancing up at the peaks.”  
  
“Hmm?” the hierarch asks. “Oh, I'm just a b-bit nervous, I'm afraid. Gh-ghastly times, these!” He goes back to looking around.   
  
Reflet frowns. “Chrom, who is that?” he asks tensely.   
  
“The hierarch?” Chrom asks. “He's been a friend of House Ylisse for many years. He guided Emmeryn during the early years of her rule. Why do you ask?”  
  
The tactician shrugs hesitantly, stepping a little closer. “I can't quite put my finger on it, but something feels…”  
  
It's at that moment Plegian soldiers race out of crevasses on each side of the path. One of them laughs. “Time to die, princey!” he calls.   
  
“Plegian soldiers?” Chrom hisses disbelievingly. “Damn! How did they know we were here? Everyone! Prepare for battle!”  
  
Before they can move, one of the wyvern riders at the end of the pass steps forward, inhaling deeply. He sighs. “Smell that, men? The winds of fortune are blowing our way!”  
  
The hierarch runs toward the Plegian soldiers before anyone can react. “Hold, sir!” he cries. “I am the man Lord Gangrel told you about! Did you not receive orders to take me into your protection?”  
  
“I've orders to protect a man, true…” the Plegian admits. “But I see no man here! …Only a pig! A rasher of treacherous bacon that sold out his own sovereign! And what do we do with little piggies, mmm?”  
  
“Well, you…” the hierarch whimpers. “I mean, perhaps… You let them go free?”  
  
“Oh, are you a chicken now?” the wyvern rider asks. “Bawk bawk! We've a whole barnyard in our midst! Well, it don't matter what you are. The axe will fall just the same!”  
  
The hierarch screams; the Plegian makes a quick gesture, and a nearby soldier lops off the man's head. “Right!” he yells. “Now for the main event. By moon's end, they'll be erecting statues of me in the capital! Ho there! Ylisseans!” he adds. “Give me the Fire Emblem and your wench of a ruler, and spare yourselves a gory end!”  
  
Chrom sighs. “Phila, take Emmeryn to the rear of the column,” he commands. “We'll fend off these blackguards!”  
  
Reflet curses viciously. “Okay… Ricken, Lon'qu, Gaius, Miriel, Kellam, Maribelle, Panne, Lissa, Aversa, Chrom, you're with me! The rest of you, hold here 'till I say.”  
  
“No perimeter?” Sully asks.   
  
“Ha ha. No perimeter. Trust me on this.” Reflet glances up. “Let's get this done as quick as we can.”  
  
The wyvern rider smirks down at the Plegian siblings, perched together near the front. “Well, well… What do we have here? You two really should've kept your heads down; Lord Gangrel doesn't look kindly on traitors.”  
  
“And yet he works with them?” Aversa asks.   
  
“Awfully hypocritical,” Reflet agrees. “Sister dear, would you kindly give me a lift?”  
  
“Of course, baby brother.”  
  
“Don't call me that!” So saying, the tactician swings himself up behind his sister, and the black pegasus takes off.   
  
“Reflet, wait-”  
  
Gaius sighs, shrugging at Chrom. “That's Bubbles for ya. Once he gets a thought in his head, it's impossible to keep up. C'mon, let's get moving.”  
  
The prince rubs his temples. “Right.” He charges forward, Falchion dealing painful-looking wounds with every swing. The world narrows to just him and his sword, so he doesn't know how long it is before a redheaded pegasus knight comes sweeping over the ravine, panting.   
  
“No!” she gasps. “Plegians here as well?! Prince Chrom! Captain Phila! Beware! Enemy reinforcements to the rear! They'll be upon us soon!”  
  
“Is that…?” Phila murmurs. “Gods, Cordelia?!”  
  
Aversa rejoins them, landing at Chrom’s side. He barely restrains himself from leaping back from the sudden presence of hooves so close to his feet. “Cordelia?” Reflet asks, hopping off the pegasus. Aversa takes off again before anyone can respond.  
  
“She's one of my knights,” the captain explains. “Young yet, but quite gifted. But she was stationed at the border… Why…? Oh, gods! Could it mean…?”  
  
The tactician groans. “The border may no longer be secure,” he predicts gloomily. “Dammit!”  
  
Chrom touches his shoulder. “Hey, it'll be alright.”  
  
Reflet smiles faintly. “Gaius, go with Cordelia!” he orders. “Fly out and deal with some of those wyvern riders. Aversa, go with them!” The three soldiers nod their understanding. “Kellam, Miriel, Lon'qu and Panne, fall back! We need Shepherds ready to deal with their reinforcements! The rest of you, forward!” The Shepherds take off to their respective positions.   
  
The world falls away again; Chrom is only just aware of his comrades, attention focused on the blade in his hand, the enemy before him, and Reflet's calm presence at his side. His tactician smiles reassuringly whenever Chrom looks up, blood dripping from his blades but still fiery and determined, and he's so glad that this is the one at his side.   
  
Then the wyvern rider is in front of them, eyes blazing with hate. “I'll splatter you across the canyon floor!” he threatens.   
  
Reflet blocks the axe blow with one sword, the other opening a shallow gash across his wyvern's chest. Chrom joins in, Falchion darting into the gaps in their opponent's defense and opening up wound after wound until the canyon floor is splattered with blood and the wyvern rider is gasping on the ground. “You doves think… killing me will change anything?” he gasps, chuckling. “Even now, my brothers storm across your precious border… Go on, dear exalted coward! Run! Flee while they slaughter your subjects! Save yourself… Let their faith in you… bleed away… with the rest…” With that said, his gaze drifts away and his breaths halt.   
  
“…That’s the last of them,” Chrom sighs.   
  
“Your Grace!” Cordelia cries. “My prince! Run! As far and fast as you can! More Plegians are coming, not a half day's march behind you!”  
  
“Cordelia, what are you doing here?” Phila asks. “…Tell me the border remains secure!”  
  
“That I could, milady!” the pegasus knight replies, and for a second, everyone relaxes. Then she continues. “But it would be false… Gangrel himself led his might against us! The end was upon us when my knight-sisters begged me fly and warn the exalt… I should have stayed… I should have stayed! Ah, gods, I can still hear the screams…”  
  
“Peace, Cordelia,” Phila assures her. “You did your duty. The sisters rightly prized your youth. You've many years yet to keep their legacy alive.”  
  
“But I abandoned them!” Cordelia argues. “I'm weak… Their legacy deserves better.”  
  
“Sometimes fleeing takes the most courage,” the captain replies. “They knew that. Now pull yourself together. Let the faith they showed in you give you strength.”  
  
“Captain Phila, I…” the redhead whispers. “How can I go on like this? They were my… my family…” She sobs. “Gods… Oh, gods…”  
  
“Damn those monsters!” Chrom snarls.   
  
“I must return to the capital,” Emmeryn decides, and the Shepherds fall silent.   
  
“Your Grace, I cannot advise-” Phila begins.   
  
“I should never have left,” the exalt interrupts. “If it's discovered I'm away when this news comes to light… The people could panic. Riot. More Ylisseans could needlessly die.” She sighs, pulling something from beneath her robes. “Here, Chrom. I entrust this to you.”  
  
Chrom takes it, turning it over. He gasps. “The Fire Emblem?”  
  
“Take it to Ferox,” Emmeryn commands gently, “to safety.”  
  
“And leave you?” the prince asks. “No, Emm.”  
  
The blonde shakes her head. “No part of House Ylisse matters more than the Emblem,” she insists. “It possesses tremendous power. But too much blood has been shed over it already. I hope it finds a better guardian in you than it did me.”  
  
“Emm, come on,” Chrom says. “You can't… Don't talk like that! You sound like you're ready to give up…”  
  
“I am not giving up, Chrom,” Emmeryn assures him. “I am only giving what I can.”  
  
“Emm, please!” the prince begs. “This is madness!”  
  
“Sis, wait!” Lissa adds. “Let me go with you!”  
  
“Stay with Chrom, Lissa,” their sister murmurs. “I command it.”  
  
“This isn't fair!” the younger princess wails. “It's not fair! I know our people need you, but we need you, too!”  
  
“Dry your tears, love,” Emmeryn replies. “This is not good-bye.”  
  
“Your Grace, the pegasus knights will accompany you to Ylisstol,” Phila decides.   
  
“Very well, Phila. Thank you.”  
  
Frederick bows. “I will keep the prince and princess safe, Your Grace. You have my word.”  
  
“As will I,” Reflet adds, shooting Chrom a stubborn look.   
  
“I know you will; both of you,” Emmeryn murmurs, smiling. “Thank you.”  
  
“It is my honour,” the knight replies. Reflet merely bows his head.   
  
Phila sighs. “Cordelia. You will stay here with Chrom.”  
  
“But, Captain-” the knight begins.   
  
“I know your heart is heavy, but this is how it must be,” her captain interrupts. “Your knight-sisters will be with you in spirit, wherever you go.”  
  
Cordelia nods. “…May they give me strength. As you command, Captain. I will pray for your safety.”  
  
Emmeryn sighs. “Come, Phila. We must go.”  
  
“No!” Chrom interjects. “You don't have to go! This is absurd!”  
  
“Chrom, you don't-” the exalt starts.   
  
“Walking to your own death will not bring peace to anyone!” her brothers snaps. “Ylisse needs you. _We_ need you! Be selfish for once in your life!”  
  
Emmeryn doesn't answer for a long moment. Then she laughs gently. “I love you, Chrom. Both you and Lissa are my everything. As for the peace I seek… You cannot see who it is for. I have to go. I'm sorry; I truly am. Let us embrace again in Ylisstol when you arrive with Feroxi reinforcements. I know you will come.”  
  
“…This is a terrible plan,” Chrom decides.   
  
Emmeryn smiles. “The blood of the first exalt flows strong in us. You and I will keep Ylisse safe. I believe it with all my heart. Safe journey, Chrom. Safe journey, Lissa.” With that, she and Phila leave.   
  
“Emm…” Chrom calls after her. “Emm?! Ah…”  
  
…  
  
Several days later, the Shepherds stand quietly in Ferox's arena.   
  
“B-but she's safe inside the castle, right?” Lissa asks desperately. “Phila and the others will protect her! And Khan Flavia is assembling her best troops as we speak. We'll make it back home in time. I know we will!”  
  
Chrom doesn't answer, staring at the patterned floor.   
  
“Chrom?” Lissa begs. “Say something! Say, ‘Yes, of course we will!’”  
  
“…I'm sorry, Lissa,” her brother murmurs. “What?”  
  
“Ugh, fine!” the princess snaps. “Never mind! Let me know when you get out of your own head for a second!”  
  
Chrom just sighs. Sumia frowns and steps forward. “Snap out of it, Captain!”  
  
With that said, she raises a hand and punches him in the face.   
  
Hard.   
  
Chrom stumbles, feeling slender fingers close around his arm to steady him. “OW!” he snaps. “…What the hell was that for?!” Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Khan Flavia joining them, but he's in too much pain to care.   
  
“Oh no!” Sumia sighs. “…Did I do it wrong? Captain Phila said sometimes a good slap will break someone out of their doldrums.”  
  
Lissa groans. “Sumia, when you slap someone, you do it with an open palm. You just punched Chrom in the face!”  
  
“Um…” the pegasus knight murmurs. “It's the thought that counts?”  
  
Reflet sighs softly, letting go of Chrom's arm and tapping his hand lightly against his forehead.   
  
“Gods, that seriously hurt…” Chrom complains.   
  
Flavia laughs. “What's wrong, my dear prince? Sometimes love hurts!” She ignores his protests and continues. “You're lucky to have strong women like these, and not just dainty flowers about.”  
  
“What am I, chopped liver?” Reflet mutters, leaning against Chrom's shoulder with a huff.   
  
“Oh, hush, Reflet,” the khan tells him. “You have a… different role. In any case, I bring good news. The Feroxi army has finally mobilised. Every last man is itching to fight. I must say, I'm looking forward to savouring a skirmish or two myself.”  
  
“…Wait,” Chrom says. “You're coming along?”  
  
“Of course!” Flavia replies. “A khan must have her fun. I'm even bringing my insignificant other.”  
  
“Your who?” Lissa asks when no one else says anything.   
  
The khan shrugs. “Basilio. The oaf isn't good for much, but he might stop a few stray arrows. Speaking of which, I think he was looking for you.”  
  
“Where is he?” the prince asks.   
  
“The throne room. I'll take you there.”  
  
…  
  
“Chrom!” Basilio snaps when they arrive. “Good gods, I've been looking for you everywhere!”  
  
“Is something wrong?” Chrom asks cautiously.   
  
The West-Khan sighs. “Our scouts have reported back. Dark news, I'm afraid…” He takes a deep breath. “Ylisstol… has fallen.”  
  
The three Shepherds step back in shock. “What?!” Chrom hisses.   
  
Basilio nods. “The Plegians captured your exalt and retreated back across their lines. Gangrel has declared she's to be publicly executed within the moon.”  
  
“E-executed?!” the prince cries.   
  
Lissa moans weakly, collapsing backwards. Reflet just manages to catch her before she hits the ground. “Lissa?” he asks. “Lissa!”  
  
Flavia snarls. “The dastard's not even trying to be subtle anymore.”  
  
“I agree,” Reflet adds, glancing up from Lissa. “It's an obvious trap.”  
  
The West-Khan nods his agreement. “The Mad King knew our scouts would relay this information back. It's clearly a provocation; a hot brand to the buttocks! We should consider our options carefully before jumping to any-”  
  
“Shepherds!” Chrom interrupts. “We march to Plegia!”  
  
Basilio coughs. “Well, that would be _one_ option, yes… But perhaps we've seen enough royalty waltzing into traps for one war already, eh?”  
  
“I don't care if it's a trap, Basilio,” Chrom snaps. “He's going to murder my sister!”  
  
“Peace, Chrom,” Flavia commands. “Breathe a moment. No one's suggesting we don't act. We're simply saying we should act _wisely_. We'll need guts _and_ wits in equal measure if we're to save your sister.”  
  
Reflet sighs, carefully meeting Chrom's gaze. “The khans are right,” he murmurs. “I'll think of something, Chrom. I promise.”  
  
Chrom nods. “…All right, Reflet. I leave it to you to formulate our strategy.”  
  
“Are you certain you're up to the task, Reflet?” Flavia asks. “It won't be easy. You hold the exalt's life in one hand, and all of ours in the other.”  
  
“A responsibility I do not take lightly,” the tactician replies, his grip on Lissa tightening momentarily. “But I am equal to the challenge.” It sounds equal parts like a promise and a prayer.   
  
The East-Khan laughs. “You've got stones, at least. I like that!”  
  
“No hesitation, no mincing words…” Basilio agrees. “He's either a genius or a fool! I suppose we'll find out once we march. Hold onto your tassets, Ylisseans. We've an exalt to save!”  
  
With that, he and Flavia make to leave. Reflet shoots a look at Chrom and passes Lissa off to the Feroxi. He waits until the doors bang shut behind them and steps closer to his– friend? Lover? Whatever they are now. “It'll be alright,” he murmurs reassuringly. “I promise, it'll be alright.”  
  
Chrom sighs, tremors running through him as he shifts to wrap his arms around the younger man. “Gods, Reflet,” he mutters. “Why didn't I stop her? If I'd just been able to convince her-”  
  
“You wouldn't have,” Reflet tells him. “That's the sort of person Lady Emmeryn is; no one would ever be able to convince her not to stay with her people.”  
  
The prince frowns. “…You didn't even try,” he realises. “You always try to save everyone, even if it's impossible, so why…?”  
  
The tactician hesitates. “Well… Ah, how do I say this…?” He sighs. “You see, Chrom, sometimes things have to go wrong before they can go right. And Lady Emmeryn was quite correct; the people would likely have rioted if they realised she wasn't there. It was risky, yes, but I calculated the odds, and overall… I figured it was worth it. I… spoke to Emmeryn several times… She was determined to protect her family and her people, whatever the cost.” He stops, considering his next words. “I thought the same as you, initially; I thought it was stupid, crazy, she was going to get herself killed… But the truly great sovereigns are willing to risk everything for their people. Emmeryn chose to take the risk, even after I told her every possible way it could go wrong.” He searches Chrom's face for a reaction. “…Chrom…?”  
  
The prince sighs, burying his face in Reflet's hair. “You did what you thought was right,” he murmurs. “I can't fault you for that.” He kisses his tactician's forehead gently. “I trust you, my love. If you say you can save her, I know you will.”  
  
Reflet smiles and tilts his head up for a kiss. “I know,” he whispers. “I swear I'll bring her back alive.”  



	12. Grimleal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update, since I feel bad about taking so long.

**_Chapter VIII: Grimleal_** **** _  
Border Sands_  
  
Chrom glances over at Reflet, walking beside him, steadfastly ignoring the constant blow of sand. “I don't know how you tolerate that robe in this heat,” he comments. He's long since abandoned his cape, choosing instead to walk with his arms bare. Reflet, on the other hand, still has his thick black robes draped over his form.   
  
His tactician merely shrugs. “Oh, you know… I'm used to it. Besides, it's not that bad; keeps body heat in and most other heat out.” He chuckles at Chrom's confused expression. “Come now, my liege. These are _Plegian robes_. Did you really think a _desert-dwelling_ people would design robes they _couldn't_ wear in the desert?”  
  
As a matter of fact, that is what Chrom thought. He coughs and quickly changes the subject. “I'd like to think it's our cunning that got us this far without being spotted… But we've seen far too little of the Plegian Guard. Where are they? Whatever trap Gangrel has planned, he's in no hurry to spring it.”  
  
Reflet frowns. “I've been thinking it's rather odd we haven't seen them yet… It used to be they'd jump on foreigners within an hour. We've been here almost two days, and yet…”  
  
It's at that moment that Frederick walks over to join them. “Milord, our scouts report some manner of engagement downfield.”  
  
Chrom nods. “Understood. Get everyone ready to move.”  
  
The knight raises an eyebrow. “These desert sands are certain to bog down our units, milord. Only mages and fliers will likely be able to proceed unhindered.”  
  
The prince sighs. “Good point. I'll keep it mind. Reflet, let's discuss strategy.”  
  
His tactician nods. “Well… we'll want units that can move quickly. Like Frederick said, this sand will bog down most of them…” He nods. “Cordelia, Sumia, Miriel, Lissa, Aversa, Ricken, Sully, Stahl, you're with Chrom and I. Keep moving forward; stay out of the sand whenever possible. Got it? Good. Let's go.”  
  
He's distracted by the sound of panting breaths as a little girl runs into view. “Have… Have I lost him?” she asks cautiously.   
  
An older man runs to join her. “Wait, I say! Why you no comprehending, wee one?”  
  
The girl screams. “GET AWAY! Everyone just leave me ALONE!”  
  
“Please, be keeping down with the voice!” the man begs. “You give away position! Very bad!”  
  
The girl sobs. “My throat is dry, my shoes are full of sand, and some big weirdo is trying to KILL ME!”  
  
“Oy, you break Gregor's heart!” the man replies. “Why you treat like villain?”  
  
It's then that Chrom decides to intervene. “You there! Fiend! Keep your hands off that maiden!”  
  
“Who is fiend?” Gregor asks. “…You mean Gregor? No, friend! You have idea wrong!”  
  
“Yeah, right!” Lissa yells. “…Creep!”  
  
The man sighs. “This day has been nothing but insults and punches to groin. And all for doing good deed! …Listen, friend! Gregor only want to-”  
  
It's then a man dressed in red robes steps into view. “Gotcha, you slippery scamp!” he yells. “Prepare for a dose of Grima's wrath.”  
  
Gregor groans. “Oy, this is most terrible! Do you see now? They make with the catching of us!”  
  
Chrom frowns. “Why are you all after the girl?”  
  
“All?” the redhead asks. “What is this ‘all’? Gregor is not one of ‘all’! Look close! Maybe you not see from so far? Gregor have innocent-baby face!”  
  
“Hmm…” the prince considers.   
  
“Well…” Lissa adds.   
  
“Yeah…” Reflet agrees distractedly. “Not sure ‘innocent baby’ is how I'd describe it…” He's staring through the blowing sand, as if trying to make out their opponents' faces.   
  
“Gah!” Gregor snaps. “Never be minding! Gregor is not enemy! You must believe!”  
  
“…This is making my head hurt,” Chrom decides. “We'll sort him out later. Right now, we need to protect the girl.”  
  
“Y-you're going to help me?” the girl asks.   
  
“We'll do everything in our power to keep you safe,” the lord promises. “Just hold on until we can reach you, and we'll drive them off!”  
  
Reflet suddenly gasps, hands flying back to pull his hood up over his eyes. “We'd best move quickly,” he hisses, “or there won't be anything _to_ rescue.” He doesn't elaborate, instead leaping forward, seeming to fly over the sand.   
  
Chrom frowns, glancing around at the nearby villages. “Cordelia, Sumia, Aversa!” he calls. “Fly ahead and warn those villages of what's coming!” The women nod and take off. “The rest of you, with me!”  
  
There's a narrow path where the sand is less deep; Chrom keeps to it as best he can, following Reflet through the sands until they reach the girl and Gregor. A sorcerer moves to attack her from behind; before the prince can say anything, the girl whirls around.   
  
“GET AWAY FROM ME!”  
  
She holds up what looks like a stone. A whirling storm of what looks like petals swirls around her; when it fades, a yellow and green dragon stands in her place. She breathes an orb of blue flames, and the man goes flying.   
  
“What in blazes?!” Reflet asks as Chrom stumbles up to where he’s frozen in place. “The girl is a dragon!”  
  
“By the gods, she's a manakete…” Chrom murmurs. “I never thought I'd see one.”  
  
His tactician nods thoughtfully. “Perhaps she doesn't need our help so much as we could use hers…”  
  
It's impossible to disagree with that. Chrom shrugs and continues on.   
  
With the manakete by their side, it's simple enough to defeat their enemies, until only their leader is left. Reflet steps forward and says something in Plegian that makes the man stiffen. They go back and forth for a minute or two, voices growing steadily more strident. Then the man reverts to Ylissean. “You dare defy Grima, god of annihilation?”  
  
Reflet shrugs before Chrom can move. “Well, why not? I've done it before.”  
  
“Ah, yes…” the man whispers, turning a sickening smile on the prince. “Do you know what your pet tactician really is, boy?”  
  
“He's my friend,” Chrom replies simply.   
  
“Fool!” the Plegian laughs. “He is-”  
  
He's cut off by two steel swords burying themselves in his throat. Reflet sighs, a cold smirk crawling onto his lips. “You talk too much, Chalard.”  
  
Chalard groans. “Master Grima…” he gasps, blood bubbling in his throat, “my life force… is yours…”  
  
Reflet waits until the man is completely dead before turning to glance at Chrom. “Why would Grima want his life force, anyway?” he asks. “I mean, even fell dragons have _standards_.”  
  
“I'll… take your word for it,” Chrom replies. “You knew him?”  
  
“Wish I didn't.”  
  
Before the Plegian can elaborate, he's cut off by sobs. “This is just the worst. Day. EVER!” the manakete girl wails.   
  
“Ho now, wee one!” Gregor replies. “Do not make with the crying of tears. The evil people are now dead people. This is good, no?”  
  
The girl laughs. “You… You're right. Th-thank you. And… I'm sorry I was so mean to you earlier. I just get nervous around people who are… outside my age group. Oh! I'm Nowi, by the way,” she adds, glancing at Chrom and Reflet.   
  
“Your age group?” Gregor laughs. “Gregor much closer to your age than others here!”  
  
Chrom coughs. “Say, um… Gregor, was it? Gregor, do you mind looking after her? We need to press on.”  
  
The older man hums thoughtfully. “Gregor is mercenary, yes? Maybe you hire Gregor instead. True, Gregor just finish killing former employers, but still very reliable! So long as you not try to hurt little girl, Gregor will not hurt you. Also, Gregor need steady income. …Many angry former employers.”  
  
“You're a sellsword?” Chrom asks.   
  
“Yes!” Gregor laughs. “Very swell sword! Cost performance very high. You have Gregor's word.”  
  
The prince glances at Reflet. He nods. “Sure, why not? You're hired.”  
  
“But!” Nowi interrupts. “But what about me?! I WON'T go back on the auction block!”  
  
“Wait,” Lissa says. “You've been sold? Like a… like a slave?!”  
  
The manakete nods. “To men more despicable than you can possibly imagine. They made me transform for them… They drank and laughed and called out tricks…”  
  
“What kind of scumbags buy and sell a little girl?!” the princess snaps. “Even if she _can_ turn into a dragon…”  
  
“She may be little, milady, but not nearly so young as you might think,” Frederick interjects. “Manaketes live a very long time.”  
  
“Really?” Lissa asks. “…How old are you?”  
  
Nowi shrugs. “Oh, I dunno. …A thousand… something? But look! No wrinkles!”  
  
The knight turns to Reflet and Chrom. “The dragonkin are said to be more resilient than men. Nowi would make a strong ally. Besides, we cannot risk her falling back into the hands of the Grimleal.”  
  
“…No,” Reflet agrees. “We can't risk that. But anyway, a dragon? Gods, I wish _I_ could turn into a dragon.”

“It would be useful, yes!” Chrom chuckles. “Even so, I think I’d prefer our tactician remains in a form with the ability to speak, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Oh, if you _insist_ ,” Reflet says with a sigh.   
  
“Well, shall we get some rest?” Flavia suggests. “We're almost to the Plegian capital. We'll need all our strength, soon enough…”  
  
The Shepherds nod and begin to leave, but for a long moment, Reflet remains still, staring at the blood soaking into the sand. “Dear gods,” he murmurs. “Where on earth is this going?”  
  
“Reflet?” Chrom asks.   
  
Reflet jumps, spinning around, hand slipping to touch the tome hidden in his pocket. “…Chrom! You startled me!”  
  
“Sorry,” the prince replies. He glances around, making sure the others are out of earshot. “Come on, love. It does no good to stand here and watch the bodies; let's go.”  
  
“Right,” the Plegian murmurs, wrenching his gaze away from the sand and up to meet Chrom's. “Yes, Lady Emmeryn is waiting.”  
  
With that, he carefully takes Chrom's hand and leads him through the desert towards the capital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, about pairings... I'm thinking I'll leave most of them ambiguous, except for some of my favourites, but for Chrom I've got a few different options. Obviously marrying him to the village girl would be easiest from a writing perspective, but I kinda want to marry him to Olivia (because Inigo) or failing that Sumia (because "pega-pony-princess"). Anyway, I can't really decide which, so if you guys have a preference let me know. (If I don't see any preference from anyone I'll probably just go with village girl. Easier to deal with.)


	13. Emmeryn

**_Chapter IX: Emmeryn_** ** _  
Plegia Castle Courtyard_**  
  
“So, Captain, let me be certain I understand your report…” Gangrel sighs, staring at the soldier before him. “Not only did you _not_ confirm that the Ylissean party carries the Fire Emblem… But you can't even be certain Prince Chrom is even among them? …Is that it?”  
  
“Y-yes, milord!” the man replies. “The air was thick with sand; even their number was difficult to ascertain.”  
  
The ex-king groans. “You're lucky I need all my men for the welcoming party, or you'd be dead as the exalt.” He turns away. “The Ylisseans will be here soon; Chrom and the Emblem among them, I'm sure. That bleeding-heart prince would never put good sense before his sister!” He laughs. “And when they arrive… it will be a massacre worthy of their legendary father!”  
  
…  
  
In a nearby camp, the Shepherds listen as one of Basilio's spies makes his report.   
  
“The exalt is to be executed at the castle on the morrow,” he informs them. “I heard it from Gangrel's own lips, sire.”  
  
“This is it, then,” Basilio says.   
  
“Exactly as you predicted, Reflet,” Chrom agrees, casting his tactician a warm look.   
  
“So far, yes,” Reflet murmurs cautiously. “But tomorrow will be the true test…”  
  
Flavia chuckles. “Chin up, there! Show some confidence! It's your thinking that's got us this far. The plan is risky, but only as much is called for.”  
  
Chrom nods reassuringly. “We'll find a way to see it through, Reflet. Don't worry. This time tomorrow, we'll be swapping stories with Emm on the road home.”  
  
“I hope you're right,” the tactician replies. “But I have a terrible feeling I'm missing something…”  
  
“It'll be alright, so long as we stick to the plan,” the prince assures him. “I know it.”  
  
…  
  
_“Master Grima, Exalt Emmeryn is to be put to death on the morrow,” Validar says, speaking to a figure shrouded in smoke. “Events will soon be back on course.” The other doesn't reply.  
  
Validar laughs. “Yes, I should never have doubted the truth of your words. The yoke of destiny cannot be cast off! Even as they resist—as HE resists—they write your future with every step, O great one!”  
  
The other still says nothing, but a deep sense of pleasure and guilt rises off them like the smoke that keeps them from view._  
  
Reflet wakes with a startled gasp that almost becomes a scream, as he often does. He finds himself fighting for breath.  
  
“Reflet?” Lissa asks, leaning over him. “Hey, Reflet! What's wrong? Was it a nightmare?”  
  
“Is… that what it was?” Reflet murmurs distractedly. “Y-yes, it must have been…” He shakes his head, drawing himself back into reality. “I'm sorry, what brings you here, Lissa? Was there something you needed?”  
  
The princess frowns. “Frederick says it's time to march. And we can't start the plan without our master tactician!”  
  
“Right, of course. Could you… wait outside? I'll be there in just a moment.”  
  
Lissa nods, stepping out of the tent. Reflet shivers, pulling his knees to his chest. “Grima…” he whispers. “Oh gods, please let it just have been a nightmare…”  
  
…  
  
The Shepherds gather just beyond the castle walls, watching the proceedings within. Emmeryn stands on a thin pathway of stone above the great skull that houses the capital, Gangrel standing at the base. “Good people!” he calls. “Warriors of Plegia! Welcome! Welcome, one and all! Your anticipation electrifies the air! We _all_ remember the crimes of Ylisse… Would you have their witch-queen answer for them? Here? Today? NOW?”  
  
Chrom makes to lunge forward; it takes all of Reflet's reflexes and strength to hold him in place. “Wait!” he hisses. “Stick to the plan!”  
  
“YEEEEEEEEEEEES!” Gangrel continues. “Finally, we will have JUSTICE! EXECUTIONER! If you would be so kind…”  
  
“Flavia!” Reflet calls over the rising din of voices.   
  
“I've got him!” the khan replies. She takes careful aim and throws an axe. It strikes the executioner in the centre of his chest just as he raises his own axe. Emmeryn turns, confused, to watch him fall.   
  
“EVERYONE: NOW!” the tactician yells. “Sumia, Aversa, Cordelia, fly on ahead! The rest of you, with me! We will save Lady Emmeryn, or die trying!” he commands, pulling his hood up to hide his face as he does so.   
  
The Shepherds roar their approval and charge.   
  
“Take out the soldiers first!” Chrom calls, running to join his lover. “We'll deal with the Mad King later!”  
  
“Oh will you now?” Gangrel calls back, laughing. “We've been expecting you, Little Prince. Men: Kill him. Kill his sister. Kill his troops and his friends and anyone else you find! KILL THEM AAAAAAAAALL!” He leaves, then. Chrom growls, wrapping his fingers around Reflet's.   
  
“We're in public, Chrom,” the tactician reminds him, blushing faintly. “Rescue Emmeryn first. Time enough for everything else afterwards.”  
  
“Very logical of you,” the prince grumbles. Reflet just shrugs and takes off, leading the Shepherds through the sands to a relatively clear patch.   
  
“Take out the archers first!” he calls. Then hesitates, listening.   
  
“So we're to kill or die here, just because the ex-king commands it?” a voice mutters. “Pfft. What do I care of these Ylisseans? We're given no reason to fight, only orders. What's the point? Besides, I've always been quite good at choosing who to hate on my own…”  
  
Reflet frowns, a faint hope rising in his heart. “Tharja…?”  
  
“Who?” Chrom asks.   
  
“An old friend. If she's here… I may be able to convince her to help us! And, trust me, she'll be a valuable ally.”  
  
“Alright…” the prince decides. “If you think she can help us, I leave it to you.”  
  
It's at that moment that Aversa swings around to speak with them, hovering beside her brother. “Boys? If you're not too busy, there's a priestly-type fighting alone up there. Should we help?”  
  
Reflet frowns, tilting his head to the side as he listens. “Exalt Emmeryn!” a feminine voice is saying. “No! Gods speed me to her side!”  
  
“Please do,” he decides. “Thank you, Sister.”  
  
“Any time, brother dear.”  
  
Chrom turns to him as Aversa flies off again. “How do you hear people talking on the far side of the courtyard with all this sand?”  
  
Reflet shrugs. “Magic. Besides, the sand isn't a problem for me. I grew up here, remember?”  
  
The prince sighs, accepting the excuse. Reflet grins, pulling the older man behind him as he runs beside the castle wall, in the sheltered pathway that's almost free of sand.   
  
“Where is the damn wyvern brigade?!” he hears the commander say. “Hurry! Close off their escape!”  
  
Reflet groans. “Nowi, Gregor, Lon'qu, Panne, Sully, Ricken; stay behind and hold off the wyvern brigade when it arrives!” He waits for the shouts of confirmation, then continues on.   
  
Upon arriving at the far end, where Cordelia, Sumia and Aversa have just finished helping the priest deal with the Plegian soldiers, Chrom moves to talk with him. “You there! Who are you? Why do you fight alone?”  
  
“Good heavens!” the man gasps. “You're Prince Chrom, brother to Her Grace the Exalt!”  
  
The prince frowns. “You know me?”  
  
“Know you?” the priest asks. “Of course, sire! All Ylissean clergy do. I must thank the gods for uniting us! Oh, dearest and most heavenly fa-”  
  
“With all respect,” Chrom interrupts, “now is not the time for prayer–it's action that is called for.”  
  
“Ah, too true!” the other man sighs. “We hurried here to help as soon as word spread of the execution.”  
  
“We?” Chrom asks. “Then there are more of you?”  
  
“Alas, there were. I lost many brave comrades along the way. In truth, I was starting to doubt the purpose of my struggle…” He shakes his head. “But no longer! Pray, sire, let my axe serve you and your party!”  
  
“Your love for my sister is clear,” the prince allows. “I would be honoured to be joined by such a formidable woman of the cloth.”  
  
“…Man, sire,” the other corrects. “Man of the cloth.”  
  
Reflet snickers. “Well done, Chrom.”  
  
Chrom ignores him. “You're a… You're not a woman?”  
  
“No, sire,” the man tells him with the air of someone who has said the same thing many times before. “Women are clerics. I am a priest. Well, technically a war monk, if you care to split hairs…”  
  
“Oh,” Chrom says intelligently. “Yes, well, I'm… I didn't mean to imply… Well, this is rather awkward.”  
  
The war monk chuckles. “Oh, it's alright, sire. You realised your mistake quickly enough. It could have become much more awkward.” He pauses for a second. “ _Much_ more…”  
  
“Right!” the prince says loudly. “Let's stop there. Gods,” he adds quietly to Reflet. “It's Prince Robin all over again…”  
  
“Prince Robin?” the tactician asks.   
  
Chrom shrugs. “Well, he is rather… pretty, I suppose you could say. At least, he was when I met him.”  
  
Reflet scowls and elbows him in the ribs. “Rude,” he chastises. “I'm going on ahead. Why don't you see if the others need any help with that wyvern brigade?”  
  
Chrom glances over at the priest, confused. The other man sighs. “I imagine he took it as an insult to his prince. You should probably apologise, sire.” He pauses, frowning. “My name is Libra, by the way.”  
  
He probably continues, but Reflet stops listening. He's overreacting, he knows, but really? _Pretty_ was the best Chrom could come up with?  
  
“Reflet?” a familiar voice asks.   
  
Reflet spins around. “Tharja!”  
  
“I see you still feel the need to hide behind that ridiculous mask of yours,” the dark mage comments.   
  
“I see you’re still hanging around Plegia,” he replies. “What _are_ you doing here? I thought you were planning to leave, head across the sea to Valm.”  
  
Tharja shrugs. “Rumour had it that Ylisse had a new tactician. A mysterious masked man in Plegian robes.” She looks Reflet over. “You can see why I was suspicious.”  
  
Reflet grins. “Oh, I see. Say, do you still have that rebellious streak of yours?” He doesn't wait for her to reply before continuing, “If you do, what say you rebel now? Join Ylisse, fight for the Shepherds, side of righteousness and all that nonsense… I'd be very grateful.”  
  
“Your puppy eyes don't work so well with a mask on,” the woman informs him. She sighs. “…Oh, very well.”  
  
“Thank you!” Reflet calls, spinning around to cut a wyvern rider out of the saddle as he flies by. “Come on, let's finish this, before Gangrel grows bored and decides to kill Emmeryn himself.”  
  
“Yes, milord,” Tharja allows, following him through the sands.   
  
Chrom watches the two Plegians maneuver through the dunes without slowing down, while he himself keeps stumbling and falling. “That's just not fair,” he sighs.   
  
Reflet ignores him, focusing instead on the general before them. “You'll never save your precious exalt, scum!” the man snarls.   
  
The tactician smirks. “We'll see.” He draws his blades, stabbing deep into gaps in the general's armour. The return spear cuts a deep gash in his side, and he sheathes one of his swords and pulls out a vulnerary, shuddering at the taste as it heals him.   
  
Tharja raises an eyebrow. “Still refusing to use magic?”  
  
“You know damn well why I choose not to, so shush.”  
  
The dark mage giggles, shooting off an Elthunder blast that more or less turns the man into a walking lightning storm. Oh, and kills him. He groans. “Killing me will only… feed Plegia's rage…”  
  
Chrom runs past his body, scanning the area. “Reflet!” he calls. “Their wyvern riders have fallen! The skies are clear! I'm giving the signal!” He waves his arm, summoning the pegasus riders stationed just out of sight before Reflet can reply.   
  
“Your Grace!” Phila calls.   
  
“Phila!” Emmeryn calls back from her perch. “I'm so glad to see you're safe! But how-”  
  
“Khan Basilio's men freed me,” the captain interrupts. “Come, we must hurry!”  
  
“What?” Gangrel snaps. “Pegasus knights? How did they…” He howls in rage. “That damned Ylissean tactician does NOT play fair!”  
  
Reflet grins. “Thank you very much!” he calls cheekily.   
  
Before anyone else can react, there's a flash of light that blinds them all. Reflet is the first to clear his vision. “…Risen?!” he gasps. “Oh gods, no! Chrom! There are Risen everywhere!”  
  
The prince scrubs at his eyes, forcing enough of the afterimage from them for him to view the scene for himself. “Damn! Not now!”  
  
Gangrel stares for a moment, apparently as shocked as the rest of them, then shrieks with laughter. “Oh, did an army of living corpses just _appear_ out of the blue?” he asks. “Truly, the heavens smile upon the mighty Gangrel this day!”  
  
“The heavens smiling upon _him_?” Reflet mutters, confused, but no one replies.   
  
They're all so distracted, they don't notice the Risen archer until its arrow pierces Phila's heart. “Risen…” she groans. “How… Y-Your Grace, I… Forgive me… Uhh…”  
  
“Phila!” Emmeryn screams, just as horrified as the rest of them.   
  
“Exeunt one pegasus knight!” Gangrel gloats. “Bwa ha ha! Watch how they fall, one by one!”  
  
Indeed, the Shepherds can do nothing but watch as the other two knights are shot down to join their captain. “No, no, no…” Reflet moans, watching in shocked disbelief as his plan falls apart.   
  
“We've lost…” Chrom murmurs.   
  
The ex-king smirks. “I believe this is what they call a reversal of fortunes. Now… grovel before me. Plead! Beg for your worthless lives!”  
  
“I'd give up my life before I'd beg for it from you,” the prince snaps.   
  
“Oh, now _that_ is a good line,” Gangrel muses. “A fitting epitaph for your tombstone, perhaps? But it's not just your life in the balance. The exalt still stands upon the block. And I have a dozen bows trained on her. All it would take is one word from me…”  
  
“Emm!” Chrom yells. “Hold on, I'm-”  
  
“ARCHERS!” Gangrel interrupts. “If this Ylissean pup so much as twitches, let fly your arrows!”  
  
“I… I'll kill you!” the prince cries.   
  
“Go ahead! I welcome it. Just know you were responsible for Big Sister's bloody demise!” Gangrel turns, eyeing the rest of the Shepherds. “…And what of the rest of you? Eh? Who wants the honour of killing the exalt? …No one? Bah! Your merry band isn't quite so headstrong anymore, is it? Pathetic!”  
  
“Damn you!” Chrom yells.   
  
“Now, now, my boy–no one needs die today. Not you. Not the exalt. Not your friends. Just lay down your sword, and give me the Fire Emblem.”  
  
“…I…” Chrom murmurs.   
  
“Chrom!” Reflet cries. “You can't trust him!”  
  
“Of _course_ I can't trust him!” the other man replies. “I'm not an idiot! But if I just say no, he'll kill her! The gods are cruel, damn them! My sister or my duty… A problem with no right answer, yet I must choose!”  
  
Reflet glances up to where Emmeryn stands. Her eyes seem to bore holes in his skin, making it hard to look at her. _You know what to do,_ her gaze tells him. He stares at the ground for a long moment, gathering his courage for the words he knows he must say.   
  
“I know it's hard to admit, Chrom,” he says, “but it's the only choice. Compared to the lives of thousands, one person, any one person, is-”  
  
“DON'T!” Chrom snaps. “Just… don't say it.”  
  
“What's this?” Gangrel asks. “You'll let your sister and ruler die, all to save some old family trinket? Oh, so delicious! I can't WAIT to hear what your people have to say about it. "THE EXALT IS DEAD! LONG LIVE HER MURDERER!" Your halidom will collapse before you can even begin your rule…”  
  
“We'll see, when the time comes,” Chrom replies. “But first, I'll see you dead.”  
  
“No, wait!” Emmeryn calls.   
  
“SILENCE!” Gangrel shrieks back.   
  
“Emm…” Chrom murmurs.   
  
“Lord Gangrel, is there no hope you will listen to reason?” the exalt asks.   
  
“You mean listen to more of your sanctimonious babble?!” the ex-king replies. “I think not. No, all I want to hear now is the THUNK of arrows, and a SPLAT as you hit the ground. Take one, long, last look from your perch. You do so enjoy looking down on people… Then prepare to meet the ground, and your maker! That is, unless someone were to give me the Emblem… NOW!”  
  
Emmeryn doesn't reply. But Chrom does. “ALL RIGHT!” he yells. “All right… Emm, I know you won't approve, but this is my final decision. _Maybe_ someday we'll face a crisis where _maybe_ the Emblem would've helped… But I know for a fact that Ylisse needs you, today! The people need their exalt… And we need our sister. If those dark days should come, we'll face them together.”  
  
“Chrom…” Emmeryn murmurs. “Th-thank you. I know now what I must do…”  
  
“Emm, what are you-”  
  
“Plegians!” the exalt cries. “I ask that you hear the truth of my words! War will bring you nothing but pain, both inside your borders and out. Free yourselves from this hatred! From this cycle of pain and vengeance. Do what you must… As I will do. See now that one selfless act has the power to change the world!”  
  
“Emm, no!” Chrom yells. “No!”  
  
He takes off, sprinting towards his sister. Emmeryn stands still for a long moment. Reflet can just hear her voice as she whispers, “So be it.”  
  
Then she steps forward, raising her hands as if in prayer. Chrom reaches out as if he can pull her to solid ground, can rewrite the situation to whatever he chooses. For a long moment, she stands at the edge.   
  
Then she simply leans forward and lets herself drop.   
  
Chrom screams. Lissa buries her head in her hands and wails. Reflet just stares in shock and horror, listening to the desperate cries.   
  
_“Chrom… Lissa… And all my people… Know that I loved you.”  
_  
Overhead, an eagle shrieks.   
  
Chrom falls to his knees, staring at his sister's body in disbelief. “…Emm…” He buries his head in his hands and weeps.   
  
“Oh gods…” Reflet whispers.   
  
“DAMN YOU, GANGREL!” Chrom screams.   
  
“NOOOOOO!” Lissa wails.   
  
Gangrel shrieks with laughter once more. “Well now! …How disgustingly noble. And so lovely a fall! Here I thought death to be an ugly thing. I've never seen one fall so gracefully, in fact. …And I've seen many fall. Ah… So ends Emmeryn, Ylisse's most exalted! But how can we ensure everyone remembers this beautiful moment of her sacrifice? Perhaps we should gather up her body and put her on display!”  
  
“Gangrel!” Chrom yells. “You die today!”  
  
It's at that moment Flavia and Basilio run to join them. “No, boy!” the West-Khan calls. “I secured an escape route! We have to flee!”  
  
“B-but… her body…” the prince whispers. “I have to…”  
  
“You have to RUN!” Basilio insists. “Now do it! Reflet! Don't let him do anything stupid!”  
  
Reflet nods, grabbing Chrom's arm. “Chrom, please! Please, just come on!”  
  
And so the Shepherds flee, soundly defeated. And on the breeze, a voice carries to Reflet's ears.   
  
“No!” Marth gasps. “No… I'm too late… Our bleak future is written once more… And darkness awaits us all.”  
  
Only the wind answers her, blowing across the blood-soaked sand.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...This fic is currently heading down a path that leads to Official Royal Consorts and Olivia being Best Girl. I have no regrets, but I figured I should let you guys know ahead of time.


End file.
